My Life as a Teenage Witch
by sanadamaiko
Summary: Everything about my life is absolutely chaotic. I am an average witch, an untalented girl, a grade A klutz and a total numbskull. Also, I am being forced to marry a Quidditch-obsessed asshole I've never spoken to until today. Oliver Wood/OC. REWRITING!
1. Top Ten Reasons It Sucks to be Me

**Top 10 Reasons it sucks to be me, Alexandrea Scott:**

10.I am at the worst possible social status on the face of this school. No, actually, on the face of this entire planet. I am at the bottom of the social food chain, the wallflower in the typical hierarchy of the school.

9. It isn't even a normal school.

8. Oh, no. It would be great if I went to some useless muggle school in London, but obviously that didn't work out. Instead, I am sent to the school full of potions and funky-looking creatures and crack heads prancing around, trying to hex each other.

7. The place in itself is already high risk. How will that look on my college application? That is, on the occasion that I live long enough to go to college.

6. I _always _have to carry my wand in my pocket. Therefore, I look as though I'm some nutcase who collects sticks, strutting around with a literal "hard-on" jutting out of my pants. Honestly.

5. My parents, seeing as I am the oldest, look upon me as a responsible, mature young lady. Although I know that I am far from being responsible, as I forget to do my homework on a daily, very predictable basis. And mature? Forget about it. I'm not sure I can even stop sobbing at the end of all those corny muggle movies where one half of the in-plot couple dies a horrible death (that could probably be saved by magic).

But for the sake of age, I have to. I have to be totally in control, totally cool about my life, unlike my younger sister, who is a year younger, and is the biggest pain in the ass you will ever meet. She, on the other hand, manages to slip through any other sticky situation without even a dash off her record - Something about a guidance counselor that I, unsurprisingly, managed to sleep through.

4. My other siblings are too young to join school with me. And it's a total shame, because they're awesome. Well - as awesome as 4-year olds can get anyway.

3. The younger sister who _does _go to school with me, as I have mentioned before, is the bitch of the century. Therefore, not only do I have to suffer school, but I have suffer listening to her whining about how this dude at Potions Class wouldn't cut up her moly plant, or whatever. Seriously.

Like anyone would want to be associated with my sister. anyone who would be in the unfortunate situation of such is a pitiful soul that is, unfortunately, robbed of all means of salvation.

2. I am in Gryffindor, whereas my sister is in Slytherin. I mean, _honestly_. How could there be such a blatant gap between us? It's not like we're adopted or whatever. It would have been okay if she'd gotten housed into something like Ravenclaw, or even Hufflepuff. But of the choices she'd been given, she _really_ had to saunter her way into the worst house ever? Talk about evil running through her veins, okay. And it's not great that people think that I end up "fraternizing with the enemy" when I have to ask her why she's off snogging a fourth year in a clear act of lust and slight pedophilia.

Like it's my fault that she became, like, the spawn of Salazar Slytherin himself. My sister, I mean.

And the number one reason it sucks to be me:

1. I am getting married to the least likely person I would ever dream of being tied in a nuptial agreement to.

And I don't even freaking want to.


	2. Chapter One

My sister and I seldom see eye to eye. On the rare occasion that we do, it is about some random topic, like if we really think marshmallows are manufactured by people, or by sugarplum faeries.

Today was one of the times when we **did not** get along. Surprise.

I was on a roll, lecturing her about her responsibilities as a prefect, one of which was not to run along with her new boy toy, Roger hot-guy-my-ass Davies. Who, by some unexplainable turn of fate, was sorted into Ravenclaw, house of the all-knowing. What Davies _should_ probably know is that my sister is a self-proclaimed aspiring playboy bunny, who hops around ticking boys she's snogged off her master list.

Obviously people don't seem to care about her sexcapades, which probably explains why, by an even more shocking twist in the road of life, she was appointed a prefect.

Anyway, I came to the best bit, when I'd go all major-vocabulary and tell her off about how much of a prat Davies really is, and that if she wanted to break a heart, she should go find a guy who had one, and she just rolled her eyes at me, obviously not taking in anything I said.

Though I couldn't really decide if that was due to her impertinence, or just because she was too much of a dumbass.

She cast me this dirty look, and told me to get a life.

That was it, just "get a _life_, Alex," all snooty and flippant. I was about to retaliate with something spectacularly witty, like, '_whatever_,' when she flipped me off.

**Seriously**. My younger sister just shot her middle finger up to heaven and brandished it between my eyes, as if I couldn't see it clearly enough.

Before I could tell her that if she did that again, I'd jinx her fingers together, she flounced away, towards this tall figure standing near the entrance to the train.

So much for my speech.

I stalked over to my parents, who were in the process of calming my little siblings down. My parents obviously don't believe in daycare, and hence, must drag my poor fraternal siblings everywhere they go. "Mom and Dad. Goodbye."

"Bye – wait, what? Where are you going so early?" My mom said incredulously, picking my 4- year old sister up.

"Inside?" I hesitated, and then added, "Juliet over there flipped me off."

My sister's name really isn't Juliet- it's Macy. But you know, Juliet, from Romeo and Juliet. Romeo ended up killing himself because of her, and you can totally see the resemblance between her and my sister, seeing as when she dumps a guy every other week, he dissolves into depression or something. But then, I guess, the similarity ends there, because when Juliet woke up and found him lying there, bleeding to death, she decided to kill herself too. Which my sister is apparently immune to, since she sees guys as some excuse to pass time or get a make out session when she's bored or something, and doesn't have the patience to finish her homework. Anyway, since she hasn't really even read Romeo and Juliet, it's cool.

"She flipped you off?" My dad interjected, not angry at all, since he didn't even know what it meant. "What's 'flipping off'?"

I explained that it was when you put your middle finger up, in the politest, sweetest way you could say "she shoved her damn middle finger in my face. Now ground her until the Armageddon comes rapping on our door."

And they didn't even get mad. It's because they don't understand how sticking up a part of your body (aside from, well, you know) is vulgar in any sense.

See, my parents also think that my sister suffers from some mental disorder, that she needs a lot of nurturing and attention. Something about her complex personality, like that she has unresolved issues as a middle child.

Which, actually, makes no sense to me. I still think she's kind of a slut, but whatever.

"Alex," My mom started in this really calm, patient tone, and I just totally knew that I was going to have it. "Your sister is just suffering from some internal problems. She really needs space and understanding."

"Anyway," my dad added, "You need to stop rambling at her. If you hadn't, maybe she wouldn't have… what was it… Flicked you off?"

"Flipped, Dad." I mumbled, totally dejected. I probably could never win my parents' favor when it came to me and my sister. "Anyway, I'm going ahead. I need to go find a good seat before I get stuck in the compartment over the engine for the next hours of travel."

"_Mommy_! I want to go _too_!" my little brother said from the ground, where my father had forgotten him in the curiosity of finding out the meaning of 'flipping off'.

"When you're older, and only if you behave." My mother replied sternly. He pouted, then stared at his twin, dangling in my mother's arms.

"What about _me_, mommy? Can I go with Alex?" She sniffed, putting on her best, cutest look.

"No. Both of you. Only when you're older."

Their faces fell, looking as though they were close to throwing a tantrum. It was kind of cute, and funny, two totally alike faces staring up and tearing.

Danny and Denise. Fraternal twins, though practically identical, minus the factor of gender.

"Why don't we go buy some ice cream?" My dad cut in cheerfully.

"Oh, honey, look, it's the Woods." My mom suddenly whispered, then put Denise down to make herself look more presentable.

My dad peered at three blurry figures, obviously trying to place them.

"Well, bye, I guess." I bade them goodbye. My dad nodded and said something about keeping in touch and staying out of trouble. My mom just gave some impatient kind of twitch, determined to look beautiful in the presence of such renowned wizards. I took this as a sign of affection and hurried away, just as I heard them being greeted by Mr. and Mrs. Wood.

"Good morning, Jonathan, Marian. How are you all today?" Mrs. Wood said in a heavy Scottish accent.

See, the problem with famous people is that they can't stop calling you so professionally. My dad is Jonathan, but everyone calls him Jon. Same with my mom, who is called nothing but Mary, except, of course, by high-standard people. Which, needless to say, the Woods are.

I ran to an empty compartment, and stared out the window, watching my parents talk animatedly with the Woods, while their son hung around, trying his best to look interested, though he obviously wasn't. I mean, I bet he had other things to do rather than to stand there and listen to his parents say stuff about how the ministry banned whatever or something.

Because, you see, Oliver Wood is the typical guy who could not care less about anything else except the stuff he's really interested in. I don't mean like, his hair, or girls' magnetism to him (which he seems to be quite oblivious to), or if the shirt he's wearing is something that will make chicks notice his six-pack or whatever.

No, Oliver Wood is a straight Quidditch Fan.

Big whoop.

Because, the truth is, Oliver is _really _good looking. Not like, all bulky and macho and "I-have-triceps-in-my-biceps" kind of good looking. He has this really good-natured kind of quality to his face, not too fierce. And, yes, admittedly, he's pretty fit, but not like in those ads or whatever where you just know they did something to the picture because the head's too tiny and kind of weedy looking and it's too small for that humongous body. I suppose, though, it's because he plays a lot of Quidditch.

I mean, well. He is only Captain of our team. But whatever.

Anyway, it's not as if he and I get along, like we're all buddy-buddy and stuff, on account of the fact that he is one of the high up people who've probably never even cast a second glance at me, except maybe to wonder what was wrong with me.

I contemplated on how talking to the Woods benefited my parents. I mean, they've only been recently associated, what with the change in staff in the Ministry, and all. And they were laughing and talking, as if they were old buddies or something! It's seriously weird. Weird enough to land me into a stupor, where I was rudely interrupted by my sister, who had stomped in front of me.

"_Hello,_" She demanded my attention haughtily, not used to being ignored. This is no surprise to me. It is particularly my job to be ignored. Not that it's bad, but still. I turned to her, putting on the stoniest face I could manage without giving away the fact that I was howling with laughter internally because of the amusingly stupid look on her face.

"What?" I replied, dispassionately.

"Roger and I are sitting here, okay?" She replied, and, without even my say so, she plopped herself down on the seat across me.

Oh, wonderful. I now have to spend the train ride with my brat of a sister and her obnoxious boyfriend. Just what I was hoping for.

I cast my sister a scathing look. "Where is the git anyhow?" I asked, not intrigued in the slightest manner. She gave me a dumb look.

"Where is who?"

"Davies. Roger Davies. In case you've forgotten, he's your latest Barbie Doll. Or should I use Ken?"

"Oh." She resumed her nonchalant, eternally half-vacant demeanor. "Off with his friends, talking about Quidditch or something." I managed to feel a twinge of sympathy. If there is something we can always agree on, it is that boys at Hogwarts cannot stop rambling mindlessly about Quidditch. It's like their lives are ruled by the scoring of teams so and so playing against teams so and so in the Quidditch World Cup, as though the loss of one or the other will put the Rapture into motion.

Anyhow, before I was able to offer word of sympathy, the train began to move. We both clambered to the window, sticking our heads out to wave goodbye to our parents, who had been in deep conversation with the Woods. "Bye kids! Remember to take care of your owls, write to us when you need something, and Macy, put your prefect badge somewhere safe!" My mom shouted over the train's whistle.

"Be good!" My dad added in a sudden rush; the train had begun to accelerate faster each second.

Which, could not, in any way, be directed to me. I am generally very good. I'm not a saint or whatever, but at leas I do not end up screwing every hot guy in a 3-mile radius.

Not that I have had much experience in the boy department, seeing as I put books over boys. To Macy, books are a serious waste of paper and ink, unless you count magazines that are like, "How to make your chest expand in three hours tops" or whatever. Which, by the way, is probably just a really retarded version of an engorgement charm focused on your boobs.

So, just then, in came Roger Davies, in his almost tangible aura of I-could-not-care-less-about-you. He thinks he is king of the world. This is the reason why I constantly roll my eyes at the sound of his name.

My sister, on the contrast, squealed so high I thought only dog whistles could emit that kind of horrible frequency. Apparently, I was very mistaken indeed.

"**Roger**!" she shrieked loudly. Davies grinned widely, exposing teeth that could not have been procured from birth.

See, Roger's pretty handsome too. I mean, as handsome as Oliver, possibly even more. I could see why my sister fell for him, because of his looks. But, then again, with a face like that, he'd automatically look in the mirror and say "I've practically fallen in love with myself." Davies is totally like that. He's hot. Really hot. But, unfortunately, the perfectly chiseled face is the attractive mug of a complete bastard. Not to mention he's a borderline narcissist. So I guess you can't really atone for that with just a pretty face.

"Hey, babe," He greeted, ruffling his hair so it looked cool. Then he sat down, without any invitation. Am I giving off some "you can totally sit here" vibe? Because, I don't mean to, you know. I rubbed my face for a moment, passing my palm over my eyes quickly.

The next thing I knew, I was watching them openly suck the skin out of their faces.

One word: ew.

It was like stumbling across mild pornography, in the most scarring way. I wanted to scratch my eyes out, or stick my head out of the window and smash into a tree and just die a very easy, quick death.

I was too disgusted to say anything; it was terrifying, really, how it was so wet and sticky and just so lewd. I could totally see everything from this angle, and it was so gross. And it didn't help that when I thought they'd pull away, they'd end up sort of tackling each other with their tongues.

And then I really tried to open a window and eat bark.

I was trying to figure out how to move to a position wherein I could only see the back of their heads, instead of their tongues darting out at each other, and perhaps mute out the giggling and awkward kissing sounds, when the compartment door slid open.

"Hey do you have a spa - oh."

Oliver Wood stood in the doorway, getting a detailed account of the Roger Davies – Macy Scott make out session, a bemused look on his attractive face.

Well, whoopee. What a great day.


	3. Top Ten Reasons 2

**Ten reasons why it is extremely disadvantageous to sit in the same room as a couple making out:**

10. They act as if you do not exist, while they toy around with each other, doing the occasional "feel-up-my-boyfriend/girlfriend's-shirt", which is just wrong in ten million different levels.

9. No matter where you are, you cannot escape the sight of it. Unless, you know, you close your eyes, which is extremely tiresome, and, when you open your eyes, you see them still going, like energizer bunnies.

8. The whole tongue thing.

7. You will be haunted by the image of _that_ happening before your eyes.

6. And it will remain there, embedded in your brain, and you know that you will have nightmares for the rest of your natural life.

5. You begin to wonder how saliva tastes like. More specifically, how other people's saliva tastes like.

4. Then you realize that it is the sickest thing to wonder, and mentally slap yourself for even coming up with it.

3. In hopes of forgetting about the question, you begin to wonder if God approves of making out. You then realize he must, because they haven't been struck by lightning yet. Either that or God is grossed out too, and covering his eyes from the exchange of mouth organs.

2. You avert your eyes, trying to ignore it. You make the mistake of looking out the window, where you see some cows doing something supposedly sacred. Well, if they were religious cows.

**And the number one reason it is disadvantageous:**

1. A really cute guy comes into your compartment, and notices the couple making out. Then he notices you are watching.

Which makes it look like as though you are a pervert who enjoys seeing people suck the life out of their faces.


	4. Chapter 2

I would like to point out that, if my sister aimed at embarrassing me the whole day at the train, she had done an excellent job.

If I could, I would congratulate her.

Except I'm just too damn annoyed.

After the whole make out thing had passed, and she and Roger had finally unglued themselves from each other, she looked up, and totally went all "Oh, my God! Oliver Wood! It's you!" in ecstasy.

Well, no. It's really not Oliver. It's that muggle actor, Brad Pitt. Honestly, who did you expect?

And, earth to sister, don't you already have a boyfriend? Remember? Roger? The guy you just nearly killed because you made out too hard? Remember him? The jerk you quote-unquote "fell in love with" right after you dumped poor old Hector Flimsby because he'd gotten braces? REMEMBER?

Who am I kidding? My sister is a self-proclaimed ADHD victim (despite being adamant in refusing any proper testing) who can't pay attention to anything after a contact of around five minutes. Of course she doesn't remember Roger. She was too busy ogling Oliver Wood.

I don't blame her, because I guess he's good looking.

But the thing is, she should respect two things:

ONE: She already has a boyfriend. A dumb egomaniacal freak of a boyfriend, but a boyfriend no less.

TWO: Oliver is in Gryffindor. She is in** Slytherin**. There are many reasons why I wondered why he didn't cringe in hatred or something. I didn't expect him to go "Hey, Macy. What's up?"

Which is exactly what he did.

I would just like to point out that, now, she should know that there is a certain boundary between their two houses. Slytherin and Gryffindor House Members are supposed to hate each other from birth, practically. It's a rule. It's a rule of Hogwarts, unspoken, but still a rule. And here she is, breaking it, like it was meant to be.

Also, as I've pointed out, she already has a someone who is willingly ready to shag her at any given time. I don't see the point in chatting up another someone unless you're planning on dumping or cheating on the former someone, or if you're planning to have a very disturbing threesome with both someones involved.

Tell me if I'm ranting.

All the way to school, I'm just sitting there, reading a book, while the two guys are talking about Quidditch, and my sister is trying (and failing, though no one really cares - obviously, her good looks already overcompensate for her lack of intellect) to get into the conversation.

The only time I was actually acknowledged was when Oliver told me to squish over because he was going to sit down. And that really doesn't count.

"Sorry I couldn't be with you during the train ride... Prefect duties and all." My best friend, Chase Carlson apologized to me as we hurried out the great hall. I shook my head.

"You owe me, big time. As in, really, _really _big. Guess who I got stuck with the whole way here?" I demanded, feeling myself heat up despite my astoundingly satisfying dinner.

"Oh." She gave me a sympathetic look. "Juliet got the best of you again then, huh?" She patted me on the back. "Cheer up, Alex. It's not that bad. Now that we're in school, you rarely have to see her at all. So that's good, right?"

"I don't know. I guess so." Except it would make me feel a whole lot better if she were actually not related to me. At all.

That would be great. I would never have to constantly wonder to the Omnipotent Being why he's stuck me with the worst younger sister in the world.

"Carlson! Hey, Chase!"

"Oh, dear God. Hide me," Chase mumbled, as Percy Weasley zoomed into view.

Too late.

"Where have you been?" He inquired pompously, in the uniquely Percy Weasley-esque way.

"Walking, Percy. Where have you been?" Chase answered back pleasantly, although she was very much aggrieved at the fact that she had been spotted.

"Trying to lead the_ first years_. Which is a job you're sharing with me. In case, of course, you have forgotten. But you didn't, did you? You were just taking a walk. That really isn't-"

"Fine, I'm going," She waved his speech off and stalked after him, muttering things under her breath that sounded like "pompous git" and "stuck-up perfect bastard".

Which, of course, left me alone in the middle of the thinning crowd, staring at the retreating back of my best friend and the obnoxious head boy that had taken her from me.

"Hey. How come you're not moving?" A soft question came from behind me. I turned.

"I'm sort of thinking, if you don't mind." I answered haughtily.

Wood looked taken aback. "I'm sorry. I just thought you needed help or something."

"To walk?" I asked in disbelief. "Do I look impaired to you?"

"Well, no. No, not really." He said, obviously running out of replies, and looking as though he regretted even starting a conversation.

"Good. Great. Now, if you don't mind, why don't you go run off with my sister or something, or whatever. Here - I'll even give you her number." I said, taking out a pen.

"I'm sorry. What?"

"Isn't that why you even approached me? I don't know, to get her number or something?" I said tiredly.

He shook his head. "No. I just really came here to ask you why you weren't moving and all."

"Likely." I mumbled. "Listen, this has nothing to do with your sister, I swear. It's really just that I felt bad."

"You felt bad because you thought I was a paralytic? Really, you shouldn't say things like those," I chastised him.

"No." He scratched his head, which, I realized later on, was a sign that a guy is nervous to say something. "I felt bad because I ignored you the whole train ride."

My eyes widened. "Funny. I thought that was pretty normal. I bet you don't even know my name."

"I know your name. It's Alexandrea."

"Lucky guess." I replied sulkily. I was losing a battle I had not even planned to engage myself in. How genius.

"Listen." I realized he must say 'listen' a lot. Probably because girls he talks to are too busy drooling to listen to what he says. "Let me walk you to the common room."

"Walk me back to the common room?" I couldn't help myself. I laughed.

It was only because of the look on his face that I stopped and went, "Oh, you were serious?"

* * *

I jumped into bed, jittery and tired.

And there was no doubt as to why.

I had the most awkward time in my life walking back to the common room with Oliver. Yea, it was only around a seven minute walk, but it was completely unnerving.

Afterwards, I plucked up my miniscule amount of courage and asked him why he was being so nice to me.

His reply?

"Might as well get started, right?"

Which, of course, made _so much sense_.

Chase was writing a letter to her parents, who always get worried every time she goes off to school. I think it's because they think she's going to get pregnant or something in the middle of the year or whatever.

Wouldn't that put a twist in your robe?

But, you know, at least her parents know she's pretty and sexy and popular enough to have a boyfriend, who she will probably someday get pregnant with anyway, since they love each other very much. Her and her boyfriend, I mean. Her and, um, Arthur. No, wait, Raymond. Ramon. No. Wait. _Michael_. I am putting my money on that last one.

Bah. I forget the details.

We then heard this rapping at the window, and some random person across the room (I'm no good with names, honestly, so don't expect me to remember mine in approximately sixty years) mumbled "Make it stop."

I crawled to the windowsill and looked at this brown owl that nipped at me so affectionately. Oddly enough, it looked familiar.

No. No way. It couldn't be...

Could it?

I picked up the letter that was attached to its leg and it gave a sort of farewell hoot before it flew into the night sky and disappeared across the black horizon. I turned the letter over.

Wonderful. Two hours into school and I already had a letter from my parents.

It was addressed to me. _Alexandrea Scott, Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

Unless, of course there was another Alexandrea Scott here. In the tower.

Nope. None that I could think of.

I quickly opened the letter I immediately knew, from the moment I saw the owl, came from my parents.

_Dearest Alex,_

_How was your train ride? I hope you get this soon, as this letter does contain something of urgent nature. Now, we know that school will be a bit difficult this year, and just in case something happens, remember you can always come to us for help _(I snorted here, as I _never_ come to my parents for help).

_The reason we wanted to send you this letter is that we are very, very concerned about your future and how you're going to manage after you graduate from school. We know that this is a bit too imposing, and we know that you might not be very happy with this, but we're doing this for your benefit, and, as your parents, we think this is what's best for you._

I skipped the rant about how much they cared for me, as I have heard it a trillion and a half times, and went to another paragraph.

_You remember the Woods, now, don't you, dear? I'm sure you do, their son is your housemate and classmate, if we are not mistaken. Well, We had a chat with Mr. and Mrs. Wood, and they think it's best that we do this as well._

_We have arranged a certain nuptial ceremony with you and their son, Oliver. You do know him, don't you? Nice boy, isn't he?_

_Always remember this was of the purest intention and that we are just doing what we think is right._

_Contact us as soon as possible._

_Much Love,_

_Mum and Dad_

I reread my letter about two more times before it sank in.

Then I began to cry.

As in, not just, "I got a wrinkle" or "I bent my ankle" cry.

As in, "I'm going to lose my virginity before I even hit twenty years" cry.

This is great. Really great.

"Hey, what's up, did you get some sentimental letter or something?" Chase came up to me and took the letter out of my grasp before I could stop her. "Nuptial ceremony?" She snorted, and then stopped dead.

"No way." She whispered in horror.

"No way what?" I said, wiping my face on the sleeve of my pajamas.

"No way, _Oliv-_" I hit her on the arm where she got the hint and lowered her voice. "Oliver Wood?" I nodded. "I didn't even know your parents knew his parents." She said, awestruck.

"Some work thing, I dunno. Ministry stuff." I said, taking the letter back and crumpling it in my hand.

"So, you're like... going to have kids and stuff."

"Ew, no." I said, submitting to abject mortification.

"But isn't that what you do when you get married?" She enquired, puzzled.

"Yeah, I know, but I'm not going to have_ kids_ with him. I don't even feel like being in the same room." I shuddered.

"Why not? He isn't fat or anything. Plus, what's wrong with having kids with him? He's good looking, you have to admit." She pointed out, like I kind of didn't know.

"I know, but - God, never mind." I stomped to my bed and lay down, fuming, the letter still in my grasp.

If they asked me when would be a good time to die, I'd say now.


	5. Chapter 3

I had awoken to this horrid, horrid feeling in my chest, like I was being squeezed to death, without even knowing why.

Then I remembered yesterday: the train ride, the making out thing, the walk with Oliver from the Great Hall and - oh yeah. That's right.

The letter.

The letter that practically kept me awake all night, trying to find out whether or not there was a loophole to this. I actually got an idea, and was about to ask my parents if it was legal or not, but, of course, in the boring part that I skipped last night, (as Chase _so_ helpfully pointed out) my parents had mentioned some documents and stuff that they would show me once I came back home during the Christmas Break.

With Oliver.

Well, ain't that a kick in the head?

I mean, how the heck could they even imagine that this was good for me? It's not. It's excruciatingly painful. And it also gives people heartburn, asthma, and schizophrenia. It made me paranoid already, and I'm pretty sure that's a sign. I know it sounds so whiny of me - if I were you, I'd probably have tried to find a way to murder me in my sleep too. But the thing is, you should imagine how painful it is to lose your last name, your reputation and virginity at this age.

And all in one ceremony too.

I mean, getting married is kind of like starting a new life, right? But the thing is, I'm kind of happy with my present life. You know. Being a Scott, not a Wood. Being a person who is open to much more likable suitors (not that I'm getting my hopes up, I'm just saying), and not being betrothed to this guy I barely talk to, who, okay, yeah, is cute, but who honestly gives a rat's ass at this point? He's this Quidditch worshipper, and I don't even know how to play Quidditch that well. I'm a spectator, not an athlete. And this worries me. How am I supposed to have conversations with a guy who most probably dreams about how many goals he saves in a lifetime?

I'd probably end up jumping out the window.

I'm going to screw this up.

And if I don't, well.

Actually, I'll probably end up making sure I do.

* * *

The annoying thing: Oliver is in almost all my classes.

Second annoying thing: Chase isn't.

Okay, this is not meant to be said in a bragging, over-snooty sort of way: I am pretty smart.

As in, academically. Not exactly in life and decision-making, but at least I can brew up a potion without killing my professor (which has already happened to some other former student, but let's not go into the gory details), and I pass all my subjects.

Chase is this sort of free-spirited type of person - she _is_ smart, but totally takes it for granted. She says that, of all the things that is applicable in this world, having to study until three in the morning for a test the next day is the least.

I'd like to agree, except I'm the one who ends up staying up until three in the morning doing stuff while dreaming of my warm, cozy bed, that beckons to me from upstairs.

So, no comment.

And it also pretty much annoys me that Oliver is in all my higher academic classes.

Can't he give it a rest? I mean, he's already super buff and athletic, he's good-looking, and now he's super smart too? What next - He can sing from bass to soprano?

Give me a break.

So now I have to suffer all my classes with the guy I'm engaged to. I mean, it would be a whole different story if he and I were like, an item, and then, sometime over the summer break, he proposes to me, blah, blah, blah. Then I would be ecstatic about the fact that I would be sitting right next to him, playing footsie underneath the table while Lockhart droned on and on about himself. That would be okay. Bearable.

But see, it's really not like that.

I don't know him. He doesn't know me. Aside from our names and the recognition of each other as a fellow house member, I don't know anything about him. I don't know his weight, height, interests, weaknesses, pick-up lines or (God forbid) his shoe size. I bet you my life that he doesn't know that kind of information on me either. So, yeah. Why bother even acknowledging the fact that he and I are getting married? Why not just pretend that the owl got intercepted on the way to my dorm and innocently playact that I had no idea this guy whose shoe size I did not know was actually set to be my husband? Why not?

Well, I know why not.

Because, right before class, he came up to me and said "Did you get the letter?"

And I, out of impulse, accidentally answered, "Yes."

I swear, I beat myself up for that mentally. As in, it was a raging battle between a croquet mallet and a two ton club in my head. So, because of my irate state and possible mental break down, I clamped my hand over my mouth, ran into the classroom, and sat at the bench at the corner of the classroom and basically began trying to die in my humiliation. And, if it couldn't get any worse, Lockhart strode in with his shiny, I-was-tailored-to-blind-my-class, robes, and told the class to "settle down, please".

And how did Oliver settle down?

I'll tell you: he chose to settle down right beside me.

That's great you know. What does he expect me to do: pass notes with him about my passion for Quidditch and how much I'm dying to live under his last name for the rest of my life?

I refuse.

"Um, sorry if this sounds really rude and all but, well, what the hell are you doing here?" Not that it could have come out the right way, in any case. It could have been worse, though, so it might have not bothered him that much.

"I'm sitting. I think."

Oh, haha, Wood. Now you're a smartass philosopher. That's just peachy.

"I know that. But there are a gazillion other places for you and your butt to sit in. Why here?" I pointed out. I mean, come on. There was this nice, roomy space beside Erica Garnett, pretty, popular and definitely not engaged to you, Wood. Why sit here with a lowlife geek who isn't dying because she's breathing your air?

Oh, right. There was this whole "I'm going to torture you because it makes me feel good that I'm not really giving up a lot getting married to you, but you're practically breaking your neck getting married to me" ordeal that was expected. He could have actually said that, and I would have bought it. Really.

But, no.

Instead, he chose to be all naive and stuff and go "Because of the – the _thing._"

That was it. The "**Thing**". Like it were deadly or something. Despite the awkward moment I was facing, I couldn't help but feel relieved that Oliver (crap, I mean Wood) did not actually support the idea of getting married to me. Which, you know, I totally understand. Really. I don't really support the idea of getting married to him either, so, I mean, get real. At least now we were even.

"Um, sorry, but I don't exactly know what else there is to talk about concerning... _it_." I said, avoiding the fatal use of the words "getting married", "you", and "I" in the same sentence.

"I think there are, actually, I mean -"

"Mr. Wood, Ms. Scott!" Lockhart called out jauntily. I looked up, afraid I had gotten into trouble my first day back. Had I actually, I would have killed Wood on the spot. Except I wasn't so lucky in getting that chance, as I wasn't in trouble. "Top students I see, hmmm? Now, if you can just reenact my defeat of the Banshee, yes, that's right, Mr. Wood, you'll be acting as me, and Ms. Scott, you stand right there..." He directed, as I wondered how thick this guy could get.

* * *

"Listen, I just really want to know if you're okay with this whole thing." He said, really nicely, which, you know, annoyed me. We had just been dismissed from Defense Against the Dark Arts, and he had followed me halfway to my next class, wherein I (again, without thinking) yelled at him to quit being a stalker, only to find out he and I had almost identical schedules (except Divination - he had not taken to even try charming Trelawney to give him a higher grade. Later on I had exposed my secret- say something that involves sadism and you're sure to get a hundred), and his next class was mine as well. "Of course, Wood, I'm totally okay with this, I'm just _fine _with it. I just kind of have to sort out the issue of the rest of my life."

"Meaning?" He said, clearly not comprehending.

"_Meaning_, I have no idea how I'm supposed to show my face in public knowing that I am no longer unmarried. I'm not saying it's a bad thing that you're the one I'm getting married to," I added quickly, in case he decided to stop being nice and kill me there instead, "but I just don't like the fact that I have no control or say in this whatsoever."

He kept silent for a moment, just sort of staring idly at the open doorway, then said "I'm sorry if I'm making this hard for you. Listen, I won't even sit next to you, ever. You can just pretend that none of this is happening, okay?"

He strode into the classroom, leaving me there, feeling guilty, even though a part of me told me I wasn't supposed to feel that way.

* * *

"And so, in truth, you imlpied that you wanted him to just keep away from you until you go home together to get married and all that?" Chase finished, sort of gawking at me.

When she didn't speak for around ten seconds, I snapped. "Well, so what? It's not like I want him around - I bet he doesn't want me around either." She shook her head.

"Alex, you know I love you, as a friend, and I'm saying this with the greatest amount of compassion, okay? Okay. Alex, you have got to seriously wake up."

I stared at her. "I've been awake since sven in the morning. What more could-"

"Not physically! Look," She sighed. "I know you guys don't know each other that well. But that's the point of it, right?"

I looked at her like she was insane. "No. The point of this was to secure my future, according to my parents." She looked up at the ceiling, which was a misty gray. "Why do I even bother?"

I almost asked her the same thing.

"Oh, look, it's almost time for my next class. I'll see you." She suddenly said in haste, picking up her things and rushing out.

"Hey, wait, the next bell doesn't ring in twenty minutes!" I called out at her back, but, of course, she ignored me. Great. Just great.

"Scott."

I looked up, and realized why Chase had left in a hurry - Oliver had approached me, and she had disappeared before she witnessed something she knew she wasn't supposed to.

"Wood," I said in polite indifference, my eyes squinting slightly as I struggled to remain firmly locked onto his challenging gaze.

"This came for you." He held out a letter, and I took it.

"Well? Aren't you going to leave so I can read this in private?"

"You'll understand why I can't once you read that."

I opened the envelope and realized it wasn't a letter.

It was a certificate.

_This certificate is an approval of the use of the Soul Binding Charm on Alexandrea Scott and Oliver Wood. This charm will keep those stated above in a radius of only 10 feet maximum. The charm will be lifted only in circumstance of gender specified locations. (e.g. dormitories, washrooms), but in any other situation, the charm will remain intact._

_The charm will be effective as of September 3, and will end at December 20._

_Noted, signed and approved by:_

_Jonathan and Marian Scott _

_Robert and Marie Wood_

_ Albus Dumbledore _

_Cornelius Fudge_

I stared at it in horror.

"No way."

They had thought of _everything_: even the minister of magic had approved of it.

"Yes way." Oliver whispered, like he couldn't imagine living with me any more than he could imagine himself living without Quidditch.

The world as I know it is crumbling down on top of me.


	6. Top 10 Reasons 3

**Top Ten Ways You Know Your Life will Never Be the Same Again:**

10. You receive a letter from your parents saying you're getting married to some guy you've never talked to (not even a measly 'hi') until the day you heard about the whole _thing_.

9. Your to-be husband is now practically stuck to you, because you can't go any farther than 10 feet from each other. Which, if you've ever measured? Yeah, it's not that far, actually.

8. **All** the teachers know about it, and they give you special treatment. And by "Special Treatment", I mean they give you this super cramped seat that totally complies with the "You can't go 10.1 feet from each other" rule. And for what? So the charm won't wear out? _It's a bloody charm for Merlin's sake, it's not going to wear out if we maximize the limited amount of space we have from each other. Good Lord._

7. Your sister (whom your parents wisely told of the engagement) now has _another_ reason to laugh at you behind your back and in your face.

6. You will never be referred to as Miss Scott ever again for the rest of your natural life.

5. You will then be called Mrs. Wood.

4. You and your friend are growing farther apart because of this "beneficial" charm. You can't talk as you should, because you can't "lose the guy".

Admittedly, there is the bathroom. But, of course, it does not, at all, look suspicious that you are peeing 24/7. Really. And the dorm? Forget it. Who's awake by 3 a.m.?

3. Instead of enjoying a free period like you should, you end up attending divination because your fiancé was not wise enough to just lie about the grim and crap. BORING.

2. You dread his first Quidditch game. How are you supposed to stay 10 feet apart if he's on a broom?

**And the number one reason you know your life will never, ever be the same again:**

1. Your parents come, _in person_, to announce to the school population of the "great news", along with their deep desire for a beautiful grandson.

And you wish you could just sink in your grave and die in silence without anyone knowing you were gone.


	7. Chapter 4

Oh my God. Why, world? Why are you so cruel?

Why did they end up becoming my parents? There is no justice in this world. Absolutely none. No one deserves the kind of humiliation I received, especially not me. I'm already on a bad spotlight without anyone's "help".

What happened?

I'll tell you what happened.

I was perfectly apathetic as I strolled through the corridors to get to the great hall: no occasion I looked forward to, but not exactly one I dreaded. I didn't chew myself out at the thought that my parents were going to kill what little good reputation I had gained throughout the 6 years I had been in this school simply because I was oblivious to the fact that they were going to do just that. It just comes to show that I should really get in touch with my family more.

I should make that a mental note.

Which I will proceed to do - oh, say, in the afterlife's afterlife.

So I just, you know, went in, like, hello, no big deal, it's just dinner. I watch people stuff their faces with the ridiculously excessive amount of food that I had come to love, right?

Wrong.

Of all the days they had to pick, it had to be the one that was pretty good for me; except, of course, for that little incident wherein I accidentally (I swear to god it wasn't intentional) followed Oliver into the boy's bathroom. Like I honestly wanted to go in there. It was pretty much just because I was so used to exasperatedly tracing his footsteps from a certain distance that it happened. No big deal.

Until, you know, I saw these people that looked oddly like my parents (and, oh my God, she's wearing my mom's favorite robe. No way), and I looked at Oliver, and he was looking like he was going to have a seizure. Except that you couldn't really see Oliver - just the top half of his head that was not craftily hidden. But you could tell he was really embarrassed, because that portion of his forehead was extremely red.

I mean, not the nice kind of red when you see a shy boy being flirted with by a really straightforward girl shade. I'm talking about the kind of red that would make a tomato commit suicide because it wasn't ripe enough compared to you shade.

And, you know, maybe it was just an inside joke between these two people that really looked like my parents against Oliver. At least, come on, it's a possibility.

But then, of course, this little sliver of hope was drowned, burned and hacked into pieces by the statement, "And here she is now! Our beloved daughter, Alexandrea."

And I knew then that it was me.

See, no parent would call their child by their complete first name when they are announcing this horrible, horrible news to a population this big because they know they will never be forgiven by their child in a hundred millennia.

My parents are an interesting case.

So, shamefaced, I gawked at my parents, sending them this ESP message that totally spelled _how could you even,_ while the school stared and smirked and silently giggled in my general direction.

Me. The girl with absolutely no school spirit, is known for being a klutz, and, up until now, the girl whose name nobody except her best friend really knew.

I hurried to my seat beside Chase, who was looking at me with such a sympathetic look it made me want to just tell her to go find herself a better, less humiliating best friend. Compared to her, I look like the doorman of the hotel lobby that she, glamorous girl that she seems, lives in. People cannot believe she sees more in me than just a pale, clumsy girl who is too smart for her own good and cannot compensate for that with perfect looks (e.g. the platinum blonde hair, the large chest area, the stick thin waistline and the tanned complexion. Just think the opposite: black hair, not exactly small, but not eye catching chest area, the, in my opinion, average waistline, and the practically albino with a hint of blood complexion, courtesy of my extremely pale father). It's really that good to be someone like me.

"I can't believe your parents would actually _do_ something like this. It's-"

Don't. Don't tell me it's so not like them. Because it is. It's _so_ like them.

"... So like them."

Thank you. The one person who understands me.

"But... this is really embarrassing." She mumbled, her eyes glued on the ecstatic expression on my parents' faces.

"It's _embarrassing_?" I hissed. That, in my mind, didn't seem to even cover half the horrification I was undergoing at the time. "Oh, no, it's really not embarrassing at all." I said warily, but my voice dripped with sarcasm, and I proceeded to shooting the people near me scathing looks, so they turned, this sheepish, sort of stupid look on their face.

Oh yeah. You had better look away. And what's up with that face, huh, Cho Chang? You got something stuck in your eye? Stick it back in, will you? God.

* * *

I came out of the great hall trying to look all-inconspicuous behind Chase, as if my dinner wasn't totally ruined enough. I couldn't even enjoy the pudding. And that really sucks, because I absolutely love pudding.

This whole hiding thing, of course, didn't work; because my parents are total experts at spotting me, especially if they have some sort of news that they subconsciously know will shame me even more. So it really wasn't a good idea. But at least, you know. I tried.

"Alex! Darling!" Mum said in ecstasy. "I didn't get a chance to talk to you during dinner."

I silently thanked God that he had given me at least some time to be free of my parents.

"Um, yeah. I know." I shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, aware that there were people doing double-takes to snicker at me behind my back, as if they knew I wouldn't notice. Well, they were wrong.

"How come you didn't come onstage when we said your name?" she continued.

_Because it's utter suicide, mum_, I wanted to scream. Because if I did, I would have to be locked up in a rubber room, rotting away while horror ate me alive at the memory of standing there, being introduced as the sociopath getting married to the Quidditch player.

It took all my willpower not to say it.

Instead, I just went, "It wasn't necessary."

"Well, you do know that it's really quite the unethical act to not present yourself while being acknowledged." She reprimanded firmly, but stopped as she saw this hunched figure trying to escape her. "_Oliver, darling boy_!" she exclaimed, happy that this post-dinner thing was going quite well. Oliver looked up, frightened by my mother's outburst.

"H-Hello, Mrs. Scott. Mr. Scott." He greeted quietly, not making eye contact with either of my parents.

"Your parents were sorry that they couldn't make it tonight, something came up with your aunt," My mother apologized, but I saw light enter Oliver's eyes as she said these words - clearly, he was jubilant that his parents hadn't come to humiliate him any further.

Now, why couldn't my aunt have something wrong with her?

"Oliver!" Katie Bell suddenly stormed up to him, infuriated, by the looks of it. Our attention quickly averted itself to Katie and her angry composure.

"Katie!" Oliver said, relieved - only short lived when he saw the evil fire in her eyes.

"What's this I hear about training?" She hissed venomously.

"What about it?"

"What are they talking about?" My mother whispered to me, confused. I shrugged.

"Quidditch, I suppose." I mumbled back.

"Oh!" She said excitedly. "He's on the team, isn't he?"

"Who is?"

"Oliver," She replied exasperatedly.

"Oh. Oh, yeah. He is." Why she cared was a mystery to me.

'Oooh, how exciting!" She giggled, and I stared. She didn't even care. She just turned back to Katie's yelling about how she couldn't have any of this early morning practices.

"_We already have enough on our plates as it is, Wood, without you screwing up the schedules for an every evening practice _ -"

"Katie, this isn't really the time."

She huffed and cast me a dirty look, like it was all my fault, and turned around and stalked off.

Ice Queen.

"Oliver! You are on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, aren't you?" Mum piped up, as if my answer wasn't verification enough.

"Um... yes." He said, bewildered.

"How marvelous!" She said, clapping her hands together. "And you're captain, correct?"

Oliver cast me a sideways glance, wondering how much I told her about him.

_Please_, Oliver, don't flatter yourself.

"Yes, that's right." He answered, his eyes turning back to my mother. My mother looked so delighted it seemed as though she was going to explode. Mum opened her mouth, but, luckily, my father beat her to it.

"Mary, I really think we should go. We still have to talk to Oliver's parents about where they're going to stay, and you know how Robert's all for the punctuality."

Of course. High-class people.

"Oh, right, right. Well, we'll see you soon, dear, and if there's anything you need to ask us, remember, we're just an owl away." My parents bid me and Oliver goodbye and rushed out the main entrance, where they left me to feel stupid because I didn't ask them why in the world I was getting married to this guy anyway.

"Your parents are..."

"Horribly humiliating, business minding, practically evil, and way, _way_ corny." I said in one breath.

He looked at me, awestruck. "You really think so?" He inquired, seemingly interested.

I stared. "You don't?"

"Well, I was actually going for the term 'nice', but if you feel that way-"

I could not _believe _this guy. Generic, goody-goody, and hot.

"I do feel that way." I huffed. Maybe it's just because they're my parents. Well, either that, or this guy was really, really stupid. And, as much as I'd like to believe the latter, it couldn't be accurate - he was practically as smart as me (I know, I know. Watch the ego). So, it had to be some teenage-child-angst-against-parents whatever.

"Oh, well, in that case, I do believe you're the better judge." He closed the matter simply. I looked at the ceiling.

"Why?" I muttered, but not quiet enough for him to not catch it.

"Why what?"

I looked at him. "Why is this happening? Why are we stuck like this?"

"Well, it's really because-"

Oh, yeah, sure. Of course. Oliver Wood knows everything. I swear to God, I can't live with people who are just too good. How is it going to be like if I'm pregnant, and, like, I'm in the hospital? I can't give birth with someone bossing me around, telling me some crap I can't understand because it's just too intellectual and annoying for me.

Wait, wait, wrong example. But you get what I mean.

And, on another note, I am not, repeat, _am not_, losing my dignity and virginity to a guy I don't like.

" - because it was some sort of deal between our parents." He said smartly, calmly, and very annoyingly.

"_Deal for what_?" I said, submitting to irrational hysteria. "Because, I swear, if this has something to do with You-Know-Who and his rampage for total magical world conquest, **I do not care.** I am not getting married to you if this is all about fear for my being made a death eater, because, in case you haven't noticed, I am a Gryffindor. It is my sister, who is the spawn of Slytherin, who should be getting married to you**.**"

He glowered, clearly stung. "Just so you know, this doesn't have _anything_ to do with You-Know-Who. It was just an agreement to settle for our future. Your parents are afraid that you'll commit yourself too much to whatever it is you want to do when we graduate, and my parent are afraid I'll be living only for Quidditch."

I found that so hard to believe.

"So, they met up, decided this would balance our lives, and so, here we are, engaged. And," He continued, breathless and furious, "To be clear, I don't want to get married to you either, or your sister - "

She'll be so unhappy.

" - Because I just want to live my own life. And **you **and your really annoying rant about how much you seem to hate me isn't helping, okay?"

I must have looked taken aback, because I flushed, and he glared at me. "Do you hate me?" I asked, curious.

"I didn't. But since you do-"

"I don't." It was his turn to look appalled. "It's just," I continued hastily, "You annoy me. A lot."

A flicker of a smirk flashed only momentarily, replaced by indifference. "Fine. I'll stick to being annoyed at you a lot too."

I shrugged. Better than loathing. "Fine. It's settled then. We are officially annoyed at each other."

"Don't forget betrothed."

"You're annoying me."

"Good."


	8. Chapter 5

"Oh my God, I cannot and will not take another day of this, Oliver."

"You think I find it fun?"

"Well, since you didn't have the guts or brains to lie about it, then I must assume you do!"

"Well, you assumed wrong, didn't you?" He concluded, proceeding to climb up the dreaded ladder that lead to the Divination Class. I groaned - I could totally smell the intoxicating perfume that wafted down, suffocating me.

"Well, you had better find a seat close to the trap door, because I am _not_ going to go up there." I stated firmly, not budging.

Okay, fine.

Call me a brat. Call me spoiled. Call me demanding. Call me mean.

But if you actually _looked_ at that lady in the eye, which is, might I mention, the hugest eye I have ever seen (or maybe it's just her glasses, I don't know), you would respond the same way too. And don't get me started on her fashion sense, or lack of it, more appropriately. I mean, hello. I don't really believe in the whole dress to impress concept, but really, at least I don't have an attire that totally emanates the aura of "look at me, I'm a complete loony bin!"

And her hair, my god. One word: comb.

"No way! you are getting up here - if I have to suffer this, then, so do you," He said from above.

From behind him, I heard the tinkle of the oh-so-renown beads, and the soft, melodramatic voice that repulsed me saying "Settle down, class, and we will start our adventure into the magical realm of the future soon enough. Mr. Wood, kindly step away from the door, please, I can feel evil vibes coming from beyond that area."

Oh, don't you go all evil vibe on me, woman, I'll lock you up in an asylum for the rest of your crystal ball days.

"Hurry up!" he hissed, throwing a glance back over his shoulder.

"I don't want to!" I retorted stubbornly, sticking my nose up to emphasize this point.

"It isn't an option." He growled dangerously. I threw him a scathing look, then proceeded to sluggishly climbing the ladder that lead to my impending doom. Not really. But you know what I mean.

"How nice to see you again, Miss, er-" She narrowed her eyes and peered at me. I wondered why she didn't see me coming.

"Scott." I concluded for her. "Yes, of course. Moved onto another class, have you?" I nodded wordlessly. "Hmm, yes, though I do so miss your very accurate readings (here, Oliver snorted - I glared at him, and his face immediately became impassive). Ah, well. Please, take your seats."

"I thought you were going to introduce yourself as Mrs. Wood now, Scott," Roger Davies said from beside me.

"I like reveling in my maiden days. What's your excuse? Going to introduce yourself as my sister's lap dog now?"

This was ironic, as my to-be husband had just called me his "pet" a while ago. Like, the fifth or something-eth time I unintentionally followed Oliver into the boys' loo again. That ticked him off. So he said it. But he didn't need to know that. Besides, Roger Davies isn't really magically bound to my sister. He is just stupid. Fact, not opinion. So there is nothing to prove. Absolutely nothing.

I stared at the crystal ball that was planted right in front of us, its encased smoke swirling around disturbingly. Oliver stared at it, obviously at a loss on what to do.

"I'll owe you if you help me pass Divination." He muttered to me under his breath.

"All you have to do is be creative." I shrugged. No big deal, you know.

"I was born an athlete, not an artist." He reasoned.

"Good point." I nodded in approval. "Well, when she comes here, just make sure you say something morbid and gory. You'll definitely get an O." He looked taken aback.

"You got an O?"

"I was born an artist, not an athlete." I retaliated, wittily, I had to say.

"So, children, have you seen the mysterious visions that await you beyond the mist of the crystal ball?" She asked dramatically, swooping down on us. I cringed. Scary lady. She peered oh-so-surreptitiously at the crystal ball, deeply engrossed in something no one else could see. Probably because there was nothing there.

A sort of blank buzzing filled my head - I had run out of horrors last year, and, since I had not been informed that I was getting married over the summer, let alone know that he sucked at divination, I had not replenished my stock. She bent down over the ball I was certain was faux, and her bug-like eyes narrowed as she felt around the surface of the round object with her gnarled hands. I twitched involuntarily.

"Mr. Wood?" She whispered, her gaze traveling back to his face. He looked taken aback, probably because he thought she would explain his tragic demise. She stared, expectant. "What have you seen?"

"Well, I saw, er – I saw my cousin's pygmy puff. Yeah. That's it. It um – it… Died?"

He looked at me for some sign of approval, but I was too busy stuffing my fist in my mouth to even make eye contact. I mean,I didn't know he had a cousin who owned a pygmy puff.

But who was I to judge?

Trelawney tutted, dissatisfied. "Homework, Mr. Wood. Re-evaluate your visions. You will never master the art of Divination unless they are clear and accurate. Dismissed." She made to swing dramatically from the room, stumbling over a lone crystal ball rolling on the floor. With a huff, she disappeared behind her beads.

"A pygmy puff. Really?"

"It was impromptu! Besides it's not as if you could do it any better!"

I frowned. "I may not be a professional at planning people's deaths, but I can make anything that doesn't involve a pygmy puff."

He sighed exasperatedly, defeated. "Fine."

"_Homework, Mr. Wood_." I imitated her sick, loony voice. "Invent more catastrophes for Divination that do _not_ involve pygmy puffs."

* * *

"First match is on the 29th of October." He announced to me as we made way towards the Great Hall. My gut plummeted.

"I'm going to die, aren't I?"

"You could always ask. But Quidditch isn't gender specific." He pointed out smartly.

"I know."

We headed towards the Gryffindor table, taking our usual places - Oliver sat two people away from me, talking to Angelina Johnson and the Weasley twins. I didn't sit down directly, surveying the length of the table. I spotted Chase, sitting with William Blanch (_that's his name!_), her since-forever-almost-hubby boyfriend. Seeing this, I had no chance to talk to her about what happened in Divination. Downhearted, I settled on the bench, grabbing a sandwich off the platter and instinctively chewing it. It kind of tasted like cardboard to me.

Not that it wasn't good or anything. I mean, knowing house elves, they will beat themselves to kingdom come if they did not get a ham and egg sandwich a hundred percent perfect.

I suppose, then, that it was just me.

I don't know about you, but I would certainly be concerned about my welfare and its relationship with a broomstick.

I can tell you this - they are not exactly lovers.

It would be okay, I guess, if I were all accustomed and stuff to it, like "oh, you know, I can ride on a broom with my eyes closed and still do a Wonky Faint or whatever it was". THAT would be okay. Like, if I could totally fly like a pro. Like Oliver Wood.

But I can't.

I can't even _look_ at a broom without slightly feeling sick.

Y'see, there was this one time I was over at my cousins' house for the summer. Macy, being the prat she is, didn't exactly join us, and spent the rest of her time chatting on the phone with God-knows-who about God-knows-what.

But that was fine with all of us. Macy isn't exactly a family favorite when it comes to our generation. Know what I'm saying?

Anyway, we (by we, I meant my cousins and I) were enjoying a nice summer day out, just relaxing at the meadow. Sooner or later, as, everyone does, we got bored. Tyler, being the obsessed Puddlemere United fan that he is, automatically suggested a round of Quidditch. No scores, no whatever. Just a little flying and catching.

Heartily, the rest of us agreed. What was wrong with that? It sounded fun.

I regret, until this day, my lack of deliberation on this decision.

We all grabbed brooms from their shed, then lifted off. At least I knew what to do. Except I can't really see the future, unless I'm Trelawney who (or so she _says_) can. So I didn't know what traumatic incident would follow.

We were around thirty feet high, which, admittedly, in accordance to playing height, isn't really that far up. We were passing the quaffle, Emmett (my younger cousin, and, despite his brother's persistence, he is a Tornados worshipper) kept swinging his bat around, poised for bludgers, and Jason (again, another cousin, and yet, now a Chudley Cannons follower) was squinting around the field looking for our snitch.

And then it happened.

I was just passing the ball to Tyler, whose arms were stretched out, anticipating, when Emmet hit the upcoming bludger too hard, too far, and too near my direction.

You can just imagine what happened next.

I mean, I couldn't just go all "haha, a bludger hit me, but that's okay, I wasn't exactly traumatized that I was falling like a speeding bullet towards the not so soft ground", right? That would be weird.

The memory of my last experience off the ground on something that isn't an airplane made me sick to the stomach. I felt I couldn't eat another bite. I stood up, then made my way towards Oliver. I couldn't, of course, go to class ahead, now, could I? That would be in vain.

At the same time, I saw a head emerge from the bowed ones at our table. She was getting up too, and, surprisingly, heading Oliver's way as well. This, I found, was extremely odd. I quickened my pace towards Oliver. So did she.

Puzzled, I let her arrive at her destination first. I looked at her - younger than me, her somewhat childishly innocent face sweetly formed into an eager smile.

A first year, maybe?

Her brown eyes traveled to Oliver, and I stared at her in fascination. Reaching out a hand, she tugged on the sleeve of the "Master Quidditch Player of Hogwarts."

"Ollie." She whispered, and I was shocked by the nickname. I never knew anyone would have the guts to call him Ollie. Except maybe his parents. But only until like... his 7th birthday. So this little girl, calling a tough, strong, Quidditch playing sixth year "_Ollie_" surprised me and amused me.

More on the amused side.

Oliver looked over his shoulder, then rotated himself 180 degrees, facing the little girl that waited for him. She seemed to hesitate, then said, "Ollie, Mum says you've been ignoring her letters for too long. And she really wants you to write back." She stopped a while, and her eyes seemed to glaze over a while as she thought.

"Ollie, when we go home on Christmas, could we... could we have a go at Quidditch again?" She asked shyly, but her expression was expectant, glowing.

In short, she was extremely adorable.

I concluded, at this point, that the pretty young lady sharing a conversation with Oliver was related to him. After all, no one else would have the bravery to call Oliver Wood "Ollie" (I snicker) except someone close to his heart.

Either that or he has a restraining order on her.

A small smile crossed Oliver's face. "'Course we can."

Her face lit up, and her curly hair bounced up and down as she did. "Thanks, Ollie!" Bounding back to her original place, I remembered myself and went up to Oliver.

"We're going to be late." I informed him smartly. "

Oh. Oh yeah." He stood up and grabbed his bag reluctantly, swinging it over his shoulder.

"Who was that?" I inquired as we trooped out the Great Hall.

"Who was that what?" He said, busy pulling out his schedule - after all these weeks, he still hasn't memorized his schedule.

"Who was that you were talking to? That little girl." I expounded.

"Oh, her? She's my little sister, Bela."

"You have a little sister?" I was, needless to say, surprised.

"Yeah, I do."

"I didn't know that."

"Well, there are a lot of things you seem to not know about me, then." He ran a finger down a column, still lost on what our next subject was.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Oliver, our next class is Charms." I said exasperatedly.

"Fine, fine, just checking." He stowed it away, shrugging.

A long silence ensued.

"I didn't know she was a Quidditch fan too." I suddenly piped up.

"Yeah, well, she's interested. Can't blame her for that."

"Is she for Puddlemere too?"

"Yes," He stated proudly. Ah. Another Wood member sucked into the oblivion of Quidditch.

"That's nice." I said, meaning it.

He raised his eyebrows as we entered Flitwick's classroom. "So, have you figured out a way of getting out of Quidditch?"

I shook my head. "No. Lunch isn't that long, you know."

"Well, whatever the case, you are not riding a broom with me."

"Oh, well, damn it. That's just what I was thinking." I replied wryly.

"You'd slow me down." He said, taking a seat.

"I know that, and it's not like I enjoy imagining myself clinging onto you for dear life from around 50 feet up." I answered. What did he think I was, stupid? I am not that desperate.

"Fifty feet isn't that high." He defended himself.

"Of course not. Then again, you're not afraid of open heights, seeing as you Quidditch is like your oxygen." I reminded him. His face held an "oh yeah," look.

Oh yeah, Oliver. Good job for remembering.

"Write to your parents, then." He suggested.

"Ew, no." I said, horrified.

"Why not? They'll probably know what to do." He said. Crap. He was right. They would, wouldn't they?

But the sheer prospect of writing to my parents grossed me out. I will have to expect a long answer, filled with mush. Why? Because I don't write to them. The longest I have ever written was something like this.

_Dear mum and dad,_

_Hi, how are you? I forgot my Herbology book at home, would you be so kind as to send it?_

_Thanks._

_XoXo,_

_Alex_

No postscript either. Just 'Hi', then whatever, then 'Bye'. Simple, direct and effective. Once you start writing about how much you miss them, they will send you posts every 2 days.

Which, you know, I learned the hard way.

"Just write to them, it's not going to be that bad."

Sure, sure. I agreed, of course, just to get him off my back.

Maybe I'll go burn my parchment and quills later on in the loo.

Can't follow me there, can he?

* * *

_Dear mum and dad,_

_Hi, how are you guys? How are Danny and Denise? Doing well? Miss you all._

_Listen, about the whole _10 feet from each other_ thing, I'd just really like to ask about Quidditch. Obviously I can't ride on a broom with Oliver, because it'd weigh him down, and I can't stay in the crowd because playing height is 50 feet up._

_I have thought of a solution though - what if you lifted the charm again, just for this season? It'd be great for both of us._

_Anyway, send back an owl for your reply. First game is on the 29th of October._

_Lots of Love._

_XoXo,_

_Alex_

* * *

_Dear Alex,_

_Hi, honey, how are you? We all miss you and Macy back here at home. We really appreciate you writing to us - remember, as we always say, love is just an owl away._

_As to your question, you know that Quidditch isn't gender specified, so there really IS nothing we can do. I mean, you and Oliver will just have to work it out won't you? But his parents do have such a lovely suggestion, we think it's simply marvelous._

_Why not you join the team, Alex? I remember you, Tyler, Emmet and Jason used to absolutely ADORE flying as children. And you were all so wonderful at it too. Robert and Marie have written to Oliver as well. I'm pretty sure, being the nice gentleman that he is, that he will gladly accept you into the team._

_We miss you, and don't forget we love you ever so much._

_Love,_

_Mum and Dad._

* * *

My parents are nuts.

They should have their heads examined. I told mum not to keep dyeing her hair. God.

Oliver? Accept me into Quidditch?

Sure, sure. And I'm not afraid of flying.

No, I could not say pigs can fly. Because there was this one farm I visited, and, well, I'll save that for another, more desperate time. But still.

That would never happen. Not in a million years. I think Oliver would rather commit suicide. Lik,. Quidditch-worthy suicide. Jump off his broom or something. Heroic. Epic. And for a cause.

I am not even going to try to go near a broom. I cannot look at it, I cannot even think about it. And so, due to this, I will blatantly refuse to even let my butt go anywhere near it. No way.

"Who in the world am I going to replace? I have a perfectly good team, right here, and I can't ask someone to leave!" Oliver fumed, his face a brilliant shade of red.

"You think _I'm_ happy about it?"

"Well, it's all good for you, isn't it, you're just going to have to fly a broom, while I have to let go of one good member!"

"It's not _that _simple."

"No, for _you_ it is."

I could not bring myself to explain why I could not fly. Why I rejected Quidditch so much. Why I hated broomsticks and everything associated with getting and flying on it.

I'd kill myself afterwards. And that would be depressing, now, wouldn't it. I couldn't play bingo with my great-great-great grandmother in heaven. It'd be horrid.

"I'm going to talk to Professor McGonagall. Maybe she'll sort this out." Wood stalked away, heading for the staffroom, leaving me to contemplate what I was going to do.

Fly?

Or Bingo?

I imagined myself, high off the ground, the wind beating me, the people down below like itty bitty dots. I held my stomach.

Bingo. Definitely Bingo.


	9. Chapter 6

Out of all the things I have ever had to do, this would probably have to be the stupidest.

"Will you get on the bloody broom already?"

"No."

"_Why the hell not_? Do I have to carry you on it?"

"Look, I can't do it-"

"Why do we have to go through this every single day?"

Our conversations every practice went something along that thick outline. I would refuse point blank to get on the broom, and Oliver would attempt various techniques to get me to go on it, ranging from yelling to begging. He did more of the yelling, as begging really wasn't good for anyone, admittedly, as it would hurt his human dignity, and also, would amuse me to the point that I would feel sorry for him, and therefore get on the broom, where my doom awaited me.

All in all, practice sessions were not beneficial to either me or Oliver.

Also, it didn't help that people had already found out about me replacing Katie Bell. I mean, yeah, okay, the Gryffindors were all "Yeah, okay, whatever, let's see if she's going to die soon", and kept it to themselves. The Slytherins were all "Yeah, okay, whatever, let's see if she's going to die soon" too. But, you see, the Slytherins are very expressionistic people. So, everyday, they'd come by and offer words of encouragement and sympathy.

"What is _that_ on a broom? Oh, it's Scott!"

"Hey, Scott, want a hanky? Or maybe a permanent sticking charm?"

"Oi, Wood, your girlfriend - sorry, no, _fiancée_ - is falling off her own ass! Why don't you go and save her, eh?"

So yeah. That bit was annoying.

"Scott, you are really _asking for it_!"He yelled(oh, yes, then there came the yelling and the red coloration of the face), almost ready to attack me.

"_Okay_!" I hesitated, and then swung my foot over the handle. "See, now, the problem is, my feet are extremely partial to the ground. Obviously, they'd like to keep it that way, so if you'd just-"

He stamped his foot impatiently. "I swear to God I will send you flying without a broom if you keep this bloody attitude up." He threatened, and I groaned. There was, I found, absolutely no point in arguing, so I gave in, sucking in my breath and kicking off.

Most people would probably like the feeling of the wind in their face, the rush of leaving the ground, the freedom, the excitement, etc.

I, sadly, am not "most people".

"Look, Oliver, I don't think this is _really_ such a good idea."

"That's what you said the last time, and the time before that, and the time before that. You're almost prehistoric. And," He added, coming up to playing level, "I am not responsible for any of this. My parents are."

"Same banana." I muttered, and he tossed me the Quaffle.

"You're not moving anywhere." He instructed.

"Aren't I a chaser?" I asked, confused.

"Yeah. So?" He said, clearly not getting it.

"Uh. Aren't chasers supposed to, well, chase?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. I would have done some hand gestures too, but, as I said before: me and the air? Yeah. Not on good terms. Besides, my hands were busy clinging onto the highly polished handle for dear life.

"Uh huh. So?" He continued to be politely stupid.

"So, aren't I supposed to be, I dunno. Moving around, maybe?"

A sign of recognition passed his face, then he rolled his eyes. "Scott, the playing area's not just ten feet away. _you_," He pointed to a spot approximately 9 feet away from the goal posts, "Are going to be a _defense_ chaser."

"I've never heard of one."

"That's because there's technically none." He admitted. "But we can't do anything. 10 feet is pretty short, maybe around twice, one and a half times your height." Oh yes. Mock my shortness, will you.

"Well, that's nice." I said, not exactly meaning it. It didn't seem nice, but at least I wouldn't be zooming around.

"Yeah, it is. You're going to defend-"

"Hence the term _defense_ chaser."

"_Defend_," He said through gritted teeth, and I clamped my mouth shut, "The goal posts."

"So I'm like a keeper."

"No."

"What do _you_ do, Oliver?" I asked.

"I defend the goal posts."

"There we go." I proved my point, and he scowled.

"You're just going to catch the Quaffle, then throw it to either Angelina or Alicia. Got it?"

"So, I'm like center in handball?" I analogized. He looked at me funny.

"What's handball?"

* * *

So many people.

Yeah, that was the first thing I thought of when I stepped out into the glare of the sunlight. So many people. But can you blame me? Here I am, about to make a fool of myself, and there has to be a gazillion people to witness it. Another reason, of course, for people to hate me.

Good job.

Oliver had pleaded (yeah, pleaded, like "Please, please, please, _please_ do not throw a hissy fit when you're about to mount your broom, or we'll be done for,") for me not to make a scene, and so I had vowed to him, complete with the right hand and all, that I would be on my best behavior.

But when I saw all these people, I totally forgot that little promise.

"Oh, no, Oliver. No _way_." I shook my head as I peered around.

"What is it _now, _Scott?" He asked, miffed.

"The people-" I began lamely, but he cut me off.

"Are our audience. And you have to deal with that."

"But-"

"Up. Now."

"But-"

"_Scott_."

I fought back a scream and mounted my broom, waiting for him to follow suit. We kicked off together, submitting to silence. "Captains, shake hands." Oliver zoomed towards centerfield, and I followed a few feet behind. Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Quidditch Team Captain, had a malicious glint in his eyes, and took Oliver's outstretched palm. Tension crackled from both parties, so much it was almost tangible. For a second, it seemed as though Flint was going to crush the nerves out of Oliver's hand. But a second passed, and they let go, and flew to their positions, the provoking looks still mirrored on both faces.

The thing is, it looked good on Oliver. It was like this "okay, game" look that was good for his face.

Flint just looked constipated.

"On my whistle," Madam Hooch signaled. "Three, two-"

The shrill blow broke through the air, and the Quaffle flew in the air. Hands scrabbled for it, and the commentary was heard over the cheers of the crowd.

"And Gryffindor has the Quaffle, in possession of Angelina Johnson, and, my, how fine that young lady is looking today-"

"JORDAN!"

And so the match began.

I was made to be defense (in other words, I was an extra player, seeing as I could do nothing but fly around this certain area, therefore I was completely useless), and so I was thinking about defense. I wasn't the only one finding the world utterly boring today. Harry, who was the seeker, was just circling around at a higher level, reveling the freedom that was not mine, that he was not attached to Oliver, who was just watching the game unfold, tight-lipped and stiff.

"Oliver?"

"_What._"

Okay, geez. What a grouch.

"Why is Harry not doing anything?" I could almost hear his eyes rolling.

"I don't know. Ask him."

I shut my mouth again, daring myself to look down.

A swirl of green met my eyes, and various colors swam around me. Okay, bad idea.

"And -ooooh, no, Slytherin Chaser Flint has gained possession of the Quaffle, and is heading towards Wood and Scott - you know, I heard that they just made her an extra player because Wood really likes her-"

"JORDAN, I'M WARNING YOU."

"Well, Lee should get his facts straight." Oliver seethed, turning red. "Flint being flanked by Spinnet - pull his broom if you have to, Alicia - oh, no, just kidding Professor - Flint attempting to shoot the Quaffle, **BLOCK IT, WOOD**!"

Which, you know, he did, with much ease. Stone-faced, he tossed it to me, and I passed it boredly to Angelina. I would rather be in the hospital wing dying than be here waiting to do NOTHING. "Gryffindor in possession once again of the Quaffle - oh, blocked by Keeper, good try Angelina, And - oh, no, it can't be, is that the Snitch?"

"This early in the game?" Oliver muttered, but shrugged it off.

"It's up to Harry now," Jordan said with much happiness in his voice. "And he's neck to neck with ferret face - sorry, Professor, only joking, Malfoy, I mean..." I snorted at this (very true) comment from Lee. "And he's almost there - I can't breathe and-"

A massive gasp came from the crowd. A Bludger had swept past just as Harry reached for the Snitch, and had caught both seekers off - guard. Harry "stumbled" (I used quotation, seeing as you can't really stumble in midair, yet there is no other word for it) back, and Malfoy veered away, clear of the Bludger's path. "What the-"

The Snitch had disappeared. "Damn," I heard Wood mutter, a string of colorful swearwords following.

"And we're back to the game, after that turn of events, and Gryffindor Chaser Johnson is in possession of the Quaffle once again." Lee said, clearly disappointed at the opportunity that slipped away. Oliver was also disgruntled - he circled around the hoops impatiently, muttering to himself, like he was lost in his own little world. Yet no eyes were on the Chasers - everyone was staring up at Harry, who was speeding like a bullet high above, being closely pursued by a dot in the azure sky.

"What's happening?" Oliver squinted up.

"I don't know." I answered, trying to be helpful but miserably failing. One of the Weasley Twins (Greg? No, sorry, let me work on that) came up to us, a look of pure hatred directed at Harry's general direction.

"Look at that bludger, it's like it's fixed - won't leave Harry alone!" He hissed angrily.

"But that's impossible, all the material have been locked in Hooch's room before the match, there's no way it could have been bewitched." Wood said nervously.

Harry was flying back to playing level, the rogue bludger still at his tail. "No, listen, we're going to lose the match if we keep following Harry. Just let him handle it. No, George (Oh, that was it), tell Fred to focus on the game." Oliver instructed.

"Fine." George skulked away, going to Fred, who was swinging his bat around with much fervor.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" I mumbled.

His face hardened considerably. "Got a better idea?"

I remained silent.

"Thought so." He turned away again.

"Watch out!" Harry yelled, coming through the miniscule gap between me and Oliver.

Yeah, I know, this next bit was corny. I shouldn't have done it. Maybe I wouldn't have lost a zillion brain cells if I weren't so stupid.

I had seen the Bludger coming - something Oliver had missed. Except I saw it coming towards him. So yeah. They should probably make me a comic hero or something.

"_Oliver!_"

* * *

I don't look good in white.

Neither does anything else, for that matter. White is just too plain, and too boring, and too clean, and too, well, white.

But that was everything I saw when I woke up. I almost thought my pupils were white or something. No kidding.

I bolted up, looking around. White beds, white sheets, white doors, white railings, white gown.

I then concluded that I was in the hospital wing. Nothing else could be this white and still look so normal. Another bed had sheets drawn up, though I could hear talking and saw a considerable amount of sweets perched on the bedside table. After a moment, a mound of red emerged from the bed. "See you soon, Harry."

"Yeah, get better."

"Spectacular save, by the way."

Harry Potter was in the hospital wing as well? So the Gryffindor Team had come to congratulate the save I had probably missed. Made sense. I watched as they neared the exit, when one of them detached himself from the group and headed back in. Wood, all muddy and sopping wet, edged nearer to my bed. Great. All I needed was alms for the poor.

"Good, you're awake." He pulled a chair towards the side of my bed.

"What does it matter to you if I'm awake or not?" I asked, with more bitterness than I intended.

"Because I've been sleeping here all night because I can't go back to my dormitory. So now that you're awake, we can leave and I can sleep properly." He informed me sourly.

I sniffed. "So sorry." I replied wryly. I made to get up, but Madam Promfrey, the school nurse, popped up out of nowhere and ordered me to lie down once more.

"But-"

"No, she will stay here, Mr. Wood."

"But-"

"The least you could do is stay here with her, after all." She raised her eyebrows. Oliver hung his head - he had no argument to this. She tut tutted away, moving from me to Harry, whose friends were now conversing with him in low voices.

"After all what?" I inquired, slightly intrigued. When he didn't reply, I took the initiative to answer my own question. "Oh, that's right. I seem to have taken a bludger for you, is that correct? And why do you think that is?"

"I don't know with you."

I flared up. "Do not_ dare _complain about being stuck here in the hospital wing. It is your own fault that you were that blind as to not see that thing flying a hundred miles an hour. And now I'm probably going to fail because I lost a gazillion brain cells," I added woefully. His face no longer held an air of defiance. His expression was contrite."Got anything else to add to that story? Another version where it isn't true, perhaps?" I fumed.

He remained silent for a moment. His next words, though, caught me extremely off guard.

"Listen," He muttered. _Yes, Oliver, I am listening, not drooling. Please continue_. "Thanks."

Anti-climatic much.

I raised my eyebrows.

"Okay, okay. I get the point." He said exasperatedly. He reverted back to his being wary of me. This was the Oliver I knew. Not the sorry kind of peddling Oliver. That weirded me out.

"What point?" I asked.

"Okay, I'm saying it now, thanks so much for saving my head."

"Well that doesn't really sound very grateful, but okay."

"Let me make it up to you then?"

"Sure. Kick me off the Quidditch Team." He shook his head.

"There's a Hogsmeade trip next Saturday." He hinted. I, having practically had my cerebrum knocked out and shattered, was pretty slow on the uptake.

"Uh. Okay."

"So?"

"Oh, wait, I forgot to mention, I kind of don't get it."

He tried his best not to look annoyed. "God. I was asking if you – you know. Would like to go with me, have a cup of coffee, or anything?" He offered, his cheeks slightly coloring up.

"Do I have a choice?" I pressed, trying to see if he wasn't just playing with half my mind.

"Well, no. But we could go as if, y-you know. We didn't have the charm on us."

"Uh."

"Oh, Ollie, are you asking her out?"

Oliver's head snapped to his side. A smiling face, I now found so similar to his, was beaming up at him, holding a basket of goodies.

"Bela! What are you doing here?" He enquired, sharper than he must have meant to. Her wide eyes flickered to me.

"I brought this for you." She whispered shyly, holding out the basket. I found this little angel more likeable than I found Oliver.

"Thank you." She was smiling so cutely I couldn't help but smile too. Gingerly, I took the basket from her grasp, and she immediately turned her attention back to her brother.

"Were you asking her out? Huh, Ollie?"

He seemed at a loss for words. "Yeah, I was. Kind of."

"Ohhh. Where are you going? Can - Can I come?" She asked excitedly.

"No, you can't. You're only eleven." He informed her. "Maybe next time."

"But... I want to go now. With you." She looked at me pleadingly. Oh, no, please don't bring me into this, I'm not a Wood (yet). "Please?"

"Rules are rules. But we will bring you. Once you're thirteen." Her eyes welled up with tears.

"But thirteen's so far!"

Yeah, I know. And sixteen's farther. But we all have to become wrinkly sometime.

"I'll take you there myself the moment you hit thirteen." I promised. She stared at me.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Okay." She chewed the inside of her lip.

"Bela, I think you might have to leave now. And listen don't-"

"I'm telling _mom_!" She said, her upbeat mood returning as she bounded out of the hospital wing.

* * *

"He asked you _out_?"

"Ssshh!" I warned Chase.

"Sorry. But seriously. Wow," she shook her head. "I don't believe it."

I threw her a scathing look. "Am I really that ugly?"

"No!" She laughed at my idiocy. "It's just Oliver hasn't really been dating anyone, has he?"

"Of course not, he's engaged." I countered.

"I know. But would you mind if he went out with other people at the present?" The truthful answer to this was yes. I had grown accustomed to Oliver's being with me that I sort of grew this thing. I can't explain it. It was kind of like being possessive, except not as bad.

But thinking about that right now, admitting it to myself, repulsed me. I couldn't, could I? So I said the logical answer, the one that was expected but earned me a ticket to confession. "No."

"See. That's why. So he must like you, right?"

No, actually. He felt sorry that I saved his butt. So he's making it up to me. Which, you know, was, once again, the truthful answer.

Or, at least, I think it is. There's no other answer, is there?

"Sure." I agreed grudgingly, looking over at Oliver, who was seated at the far corner of the common room, but not too far, reading a book that spelled "Quidditch Through the Ages" on the cover. I had always thought that athletes were meant to be kind of stupid (e.g. Flint). Obviously, there was an exception to every rule. He looked up just in time, and caught me glancing at him. Oh, crap. Quickly, I turned away, permitting myself to flush.

"Don't look, he's coming." Chase stood up.

"Don't _leave_ me!" I hissed, but she threw me a small smile before departing for the dorm. I groaned quietly.

"Hey." Oliver greeted, taking Chase's former seat. I threw one final glance at the staircase that lead to my dorm before greeting back.

"Oh. Hey." I returned the favor, answering with much enthusiasm.

"So, have you, erm. Thought of an answer?"

"Sure." I evaded nervously.

"And?"

"Well, okay, sure. Why not?" I don't know why, but it sounded like a chore to me, the way I said it.

"Great. See you, when – em, never mind." He retreated back to his corner.

Yeah, it was kind of easy to forget that we weren't magically glued to each other, wasn't it?


	10. Chapter 7

The walk to Hogsmeade was blissfully sweet.

I was floating on air, and it was as if no one else but Oliver and I were there - me, locked in his attractive gaze, and, of course, him, gazing at me. My head was light, and I felt my heart was bursting with joy.

I'm such a good liar. Even I surprise myself.

I wasn't floating on air - in fact, every step I took felt as though I was pulling it 6 feet out of the gravel. People were staring at us, and, as you know, I am not exactly cut out for the modeling career. So I felt _extremely _conscious. I was not happy, or sad, or angry. I actually felt as though I was going to puke.

The only thing that is true about the generally bluffed up statement up there is that Oliver has an attractive gaze. Which we already have established since God knows when. And he doesn't _gaze_ at me, per say. He glares at me.

Yes, I know, it is attractive too. You don't have to point that out - I'm not dumb.

And he and I were staring at different things that were not each other. He seemed to find extreme interest in his shoes, which were, actually, very nice, and which I would be admiring right now, had I not been focusing on the fact that people were openly ogling at our walking together. But, I mean, they have no reason to. Can't people walk by each other? It's not illegal or anything. I have perfect liberty to do whatever I want. It's not as if people don't do it all the time - what's the difference?

As if you and Percy Weasley haven't been sneaking out to make out or whatever in the Transfiguration Classroom, Pau... No... Wait, sorry... Pat... No... Penelope. Yeah, you. Put your eyes back in.

_God_.

"Why are all these people staring at us?" I muttered at the corner of my mouth. For a split second, he didn't answer.

"Huh?"

"What?"

"Sorry. Were you asking me?"

"Who else could I possibly address?" I asked, exasperated.

"Sorry. What was the question again?" He asked sheepishly.

"Why are all these people staring at us?" He pondered.

"We look good together." He shrugged, like he really meant it.

"Funny." I huffed.

"Yes, you do look quite funny, don't you?" He answered back, without skipping a single beat.

"Only because I'm standing next to you."

"That… kind of sounds like you're saying I really _do_ look better than you."

"Well – er, yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up." I hastened to cover up my mistake and stomped forward, leaving him at my heels.

"Where are you going?" He said, sounding as though he were not even making an effort to catch up. Which, of course, he didn't have to. I mean, he's tall. I'm not. What are the odds I'd outwalk him?

"I - I don't know!"

"Well... You missed our stop." He said, sounding amused. Heat crept up to my cheeks. I turned on my heel and stalked past the door he was holding open, silent fits of laughter shaking his well-built body.

"Oh, shut up you." I said, thoroughly embarrassed, not even bothering to hide my shame.

"Sorry. But the look on your face -"

"Can't be compared to the look on your when you asked me out in the first place." I snapped.

"What look?" He said, now sobered down completely.

"Look? It was this sort of constipated kind of thing that was making you all red and puffy and sick looking. It was epic. I wish I'd recorded that."

His face was now livid. "I did _not_ look like that."

"Maybe not, when you practiced it to yourself in the mirror."

"That was all out of impulse."

"No. It was all out of guilt." I answered with conviction. "Don't you lie about that."

His expression was furious. "How are you so sure that I didn't ask you because I liked you?"

"Because you and I are like Pluto and the sun. Just so you know, you are the sun." I replied. There was something unreadable about his face as he muttered a last "Fine," before closing the door. Walking ahead of my icily, he went to a chair and pulled it out, forcibly but still amazingly silent. I stared.

"Didn't your parents ever teach you?" He said, a smirk tugging at his lips. I exhaled.

"They have." I said haughtily.

"Then sit down." He ordered. Irked, I complied. He went around and sat on his own little chair. In this cramped little place, I felt like a giant.

"What is this place, anyway?"

"This," He made a grand, sweeping gesture. "Is the Leafy Cauldron."

I blinked. He stared back, wondering why I was not unleashing anything as of the moment. It took me a while to process that he was actually serious. "You're kidding right?"

"Kidding?" He asked, genuinely confused.

"Kidding. Making fun of me. Laughing an inside joke." I explained.

"No. I'm not kidding." He answered simply.

"How original of them." I mumbled under my breath. He smirked again.

"So, what's for you?" He leaned over, and he was closer to my face than he had ever been in the span of time I'd been with him.

"Coffee."

"Nothing off the specials?"

"Are you paying?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Then no." He shook his head, and leaned back, giving me time to realize I had been holding my breath.

* * *

"Are you sure that's all you want?"

"Yes."

"Are you positive?"

"Oliver. I'm _through_. Please do not ask me to spit it back out for your sake." I sighed. He laughed despite the rudeness of my statement. Well, he can laugh. It's not funny when people are staring at him, of course, because they're probably doing it because he's good - looking. I mean I know I would. But there is a large difference between staring at him and staring at me. I mean, yeah, I know I look weird, but could you please whisper about it in your dorms or something?

Unless, of course, the reason why they're staring at me is because I'm so pretty.

Yeah, I didn't think so either.

"If you don't mind, I was planning to stop by Quality Quidditch Supplies-" He informed me hesitantly. I sniffed. What a surprise, we're off to a Quidditch supply store.

"Okay, sure." I said, though my voice was very tight and definitely did not sound like an approval. His eyebrows met in the center.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Very. Very sure indeed." I said, standing up. He didn't budge. I looked down (for once in my life) at him, and he blinked back up. "What?"

"Well, you couldn't really win a prize for enthusiasm." He said. I pulled up a smiling charade. "of _course_ I'm enthusiastic."

"Then what was with the look on your face? The really annoyed one." He answered before I could even ask.

"Nothing. Just felt weird." I shrugged. "No big deal. Now let's go."

He took another scruntinizing look at me, then stood up.

"You first." He offered in a low voice. That made me raise an eyebrow.

"What's up with the voice?"

"I think I'm hitting puberty." He explained with much seriousness. For the first time in the entire span of time I had been around him, this was the first time I'd ever laughed genuinely.

"Whatever." I said, rolling my eyes, a smile still present on my face. We exited the tea house, into the cool air, a nice changed from the stuffy humidity of the former location.

"So, why _are_ we going to the Quidditch shop? Buying a new cleaning kit for yourself?" I prodded, suddenly curious. He shook his head. I shut up immediately.

"My sister. It's for her Christmas gift."

"Aww. That's sweet."

"Are you making fun of me? Because I can rarely tell."

"No, that wasn't a joke." I said honestly. I just realized how much I abused this power of being able to display sarcasm to someone who seemed genuinely unconcerned of it.

As of the moment.

We entered the shop, like, okay, no big deal, I live here. Which is easy for OLIVER to say. But, of course, we speak of entirely dissimilar circumstances here. We're talking about him, Oliver Wood, Quidditch playing Gryffindor Adonis, standing (towering) next to me, Alexandrea, geek -slash- insomniac sociopath.

It's all good.

He crossed the wooden floor, weaving in and out with the almost - tangible air of having been here countless times before. Not unexpected. Still new to this, I followed behind shyly. We walked around, his face dead observant.

On one shelf, he stopped so abruptly I nearly rammed into his back. Not like he would feel it. Or care. "What do you think?" He asked, surveying the brooms that were placed neatly, almost lovingly, on the polished plane. He turned to me. "What do you think?" He repeated, raising his eyebrows.

I made a face. "You're asking me. You have to be _joking_." I rolled my eyes and laughed, though nothing was really amusing about it.

"Well, who else _can _I ask?"

"I don't know. But if you'd ask me, they all look the same. I'm not going to be of much help to you." I admitted. He sighed. "Oh look, a book section." I pointed out. He didn't even turn.

"Mmmhhmmm." He nodded, like he was trying to pay attention to my "annoying" prattling.

"Look, just get one and let's go. Please?"

"This is for my sister." He snapped. "You of all people should understand how much siblings mean."

He added in a condescending tone. "Too bad, because the only siblings I love are too small and chubby to ride a real broom."

"Really?" He said, astounded.

"Yes, really."

"What about Macy?"

"Please, let's not talk about her." I begged.

"Don't be so dramatic." He ordered. I snorted. "You try living with her." I challenged. His face was smooth as he answered.

"I think I could survive, seeing as I seem to be facing that situation in a few months' time."

"Well, it's easy for _you_ to like her, you're a boy. It's all about that boy hormone crap."

"I thought that the hormonal thing was only for girls." He asked, amused.

"Well, you thought wrong, didn't you?"

"She's a nice person." He said, honesty ringing from every syllable.

"Yeah, I know. I must be a saint then." He didn't reply at first, gently taking a broom and weighing it.

"Well, I guess you're right, seeing as you're flesh and blood." He closed the topic of my sister, putting the broom back and picking another.

"It must be easy, living with your siblings."

He smiled. "I'm not going to lie to you. Bela can be annoying at times, but, seeing as she _is_ only 11, I'd often let that go. It's easier to love kids who haven't really caught the sense of the real world yet."

"Yeah." I said wistfully, thinking of Danny and Denise. "When I have a kid, I want to catch them at that age, and keep them there forever."

This very nice, very innocent thought was interrupted and burned by the intensity of Oliver's next words.

_"When you have a kid."_

"Yes, when I -" I stopped. He was stock still, the broom dangling dangerously in his loose grasp. "I didn't mean that- You know. Ew."

"Kids?"

"You thought of it, it's not my fault, I think I would have thought of it any way with or without you!" I was mortified, humiliated, and therefore being stared at, again, by the customers.

"Keep your voice down, for Merlin's sake, we're going to get thrown out." He hissed. Seemingly satisfied, though it did not show on his features, he marched me to the counter, then paid for the broom, asking it to be wrapped in paper. "

I'm just saying," He added, "That it surprised me you would go into that subject. Not that it's weird- Okay, fine, _yes_, it's weird." I had shot him an incredulous look.

"Well, it's good you're honest about it." The red had not quite faded from my cheeks. Damn.

"Yeah, well, at least we've talked about it now."

"_Please _stop trying to be optimistic."

"Stop being so negative then." He suggested as well.

"Deal." I agreed.

We exited, the atmosphere of tension still present.

I realized I was quietly contemplating the whole way back.

* * *

"Thank you, Oliver." I said, quieter than I should have, because it was very embarrassing to suddenly thank someone who you just shared a very short but shameful conversation about kids and the general topic of marriage and what comes after that with. If that made sense.

"You're welcome." He said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, looking very uncomfortable indeed.

"Uh, I had fun. I guess."

"Me too."

"Well, okay. Bye now."

I made to go upstairs already. "Hey, Sc - Alex?" He called out, almost like there was something stuck in his throat, and like he was choking.

I stopped. "Yeah?" He seemed to hesitate, then stepped up to me. I was on the second step - at this height, I could almost reach him.

_Almost. _But not quite. God, I need growth pills.

"Thank you for, um, today."

"You're welcome." I said, making a movement to go up again, wondering why he couldn't just say it out loud, without even taking a step.

"Wait."

"Yeah?"

"Um." He didn't say anything after that. Weird.

"_Goodbye Oliver. Thank you_." I said tiredly.

"Alex." He tried again. What was it, name repetition day?

"_Yes._ I'm right here." He leaned over, and I instinctively moved my head away. Something soft and mildly wet came into contact with my cheek.

I watched as he disappeared up the passage to the boy's dorm, without another word.

I realized he had kissed me.

"Oh, _gross_."

* * *

"HE _WHAT_ YOU?"


	11. Chapter 8

"Please don't make me say it again."

"What was it like?" She asked, her expression wild and excited.

I looked at her like she was insane. "What?"

"What was it like? Kissing Oliver, I mean." She explained, like I didn't now what she was talking about. Seriously. How could she not know me?

"All gross and wet and whatever." I answered. This, of course, totally did not satisfy her generally nosy, curious being.

"Yeah, right. He's a good kisser, and you know it."

"I don't know. Please, why don't you berate my cheek, and let the rest of my body rest." She rolled her eyes.

"Don't be like that. He's hot, and you like him." She said, like she knew everything. Which, you know, she got that statement pretty correct. He's good - looking, attractive, handsome, hot, whatever.

But I don't like him. Please. I'm not living in a soap opera. This is the real world - sick, twisted, and totally unfair. That's life, that's it. And no guy in their right mind would like me. I'm like social wallpaper. I'm there, but you don't really care. And Oliver is that dude who just so happens to notice me, for the glimpse of a second, only because he lives in the house I wallpaperized.

If you didn't get the analogy, let me explain: I'm a nobody. Oliver is a somebody. Mr. Somebody cares about Nobody because Nobody's stuck on Somebody. So he has absolutely no choice.

"He's hot, sure. Like him? Give me a break." I turned away from her, stuffing a pile of shirts into my trunk. I could tell she was smirking. I mean, I couldn't see it or anything, because my back was to her, but I totally knew it, because:

a) It would just be so like her, and

b) A smirk connotes disbelief in statements that preceded it. Therefore, she didn't believe me. Which was fine by me. Like I had to prove anything to her. I have better things to do in life.

* * *

So many things I had found out during and after the train ride. And now, I shall relate them to you.

**DURING:**

1. My sister is really out to kill me before my time. Seriously. No one else on the face of this Earth can tick me off quite as well as she does. It's like a unique art. Except I can't appreciate things like those.

2. Roger Davies is a prat. Oh, we already knew that? Great. Now we can add to the list of "Roger Davies' What-He-Did List." Annoy the living Alexandrea Scott out of me, hand in hand with my sister: Check.

3. Chase like seeing me writhe with discomfort on the inside. Yes. I know I have known her for practically my whole Hogwarts life. But I only realized now that she likes the idea of me aching to scream because I got stuck with Roger, Macy and Oliver, all in the same compartment. How do I know? Well, she just went "Well, oh my God. And what did you tell Oliver?". That's not what she's supposed to _say!_

4. Oliver can be apathetic. So much so that he bores himself so much that he makes himself fall asleep, conveniently making me squish against the edge of the wall so his head wouldn't land on my lap, because that would look and feel really weird. Not to mention it's like a reenactment of me on my mom's when I was a kid. And I'm not a mom, and he's not a kid. By looks, anyway.

**AFTER:**

1. My sister and Roger Davies have created a new game. It's called "Disappear Right After the Train Ride and Go to a Public Bathroom and Snog". It's like hide and seek, except more scarring moments are involved.

2. Chase is trying to play matchmaker. Honestly, we don't need another psychotic lust-filled goddess. Okay?

3. Oliver can be a grumpy old fart when he wants to. I mean, yeah, okay, like it's my fault you just totally had to doze off and wake up with stiff neck. And even if I let him sleep on my lap, it still wouldn't change the fact that he's lying down in a position that is not suitable for a build such as his. Seriously. So it's got nothing to do with me. Y'hear that, Oliver? Go man period on someone else.

4. My parents are _conveniently_ out of town. Mr. and Mrs. Wood told me. Guess who's house I'm going to stay in for the break?

* * *

"Who knew you could apparate into a land of hills?" I said dryly, rubbing my eyes. Oliver ignored this.

"Are you a walker?"

"I'm not a paralytic, if that's what you mean. Though I do say I recall informing you of my disabilities, or, rather, lack of it, at one point in time. Don't you remember? Good times." I nodded, feigning an expression of wistfulness.

He rolled his eyes. "Well, can you walk for around fifteen minutes? Because that's the only way we're going to get home." Without even waiting for a reply, he marched off after his parents, who had gotten a heads tart on the whole walking ordeal. Bela hung onto my arm, the only Wood member I could fully appreciate, if ever I had just met them and shared a conversation in a span of around 3 minutes. She looked at me, silent at first.

Then she whispered, "He's in a bit of pain."

"How can you tell?" I asked, astounded at her intelligence. She shrugged.

"He looks constipated."

Ah. Well that makes perfect sense.

After half an hour of hilly walking (Oliver, you liar), we reached a driveway - ish road, snaking up to a huge house. It made me wonder why we couldn't have apparated there in the first place. When I asked Oliver, he said shortly, "My parents put an enchantment." When inquired why, he snapped, "Because they do that when they're not home."

I threw him a scathing look. God, could he be a girl.

I learned from Bela, who was much less of a snapper, that the enchantment was taken off when a member of the family was home. If not, the charm, similar to that of Hogwarts', was put on the house, making it entirely impossible to apparate anywhere nearer than the hill we had landed in. Which made so much sense.

If I were the burglar, I would have probably died going halfway up the path. Or I would have at least committed suicide.

We trudged (I mean, well, I did. Bela skipped a few steps ahead, Oliver trekked, like it was the easiest thing ever, and Mr. and Mrs. Wood lead the way, no sign of effort on their faces whatsoever) up, until we reached the highly polished door that was obviously the entrance to their house. Yeah, okay. Forgive the tone of stupidity. But seriously, you would be muddled after a half hour or so of walking in the heat, with no shade, whatsoever.

"You okay?" Bela inquired with genuine concern, something that Oliver would say only if he was absolutely certain that I was the total epitome of not okay-ness.

"Yes. Very." I said shortly, not because I was mad at her or anything, but just because I had absolutely no breath to spare in talking, seeing as I was trying to gather as much oxygen as I could without ridding the world totally of it. Though I quite well think that Oliver could suffer a few moments for the need of breath. Mr. Wood drew out a key, and not his wand, which surprised me. For magical folk, they sure were pretty well educated on the use of things like keys. He inserted it into a keyhole, and opened the door.

Okay, before I continue, let me just say, that I'm not exactly one of the richer people in this world. I'm strictly middle class, and I take pride in the fact that I am neither killing for something to eat or eating caviar our of someone holding someone's hand holding a platter, with someone feeding me. I'm normal.

So now that we've established that let me say: Oliver is not strictly middle class.

I swear to God, I think I choked on my own saliva looking at the interior of the house. I could not even move myself to step foot in it - being in it would feel like I was dirtying up the whole place. Everything was covered from ceiling to floor in something that probably cost more than I do. Okay, not really. But seriously. From glass, to crystal, to varnished wood, to diamonds, to whatever. It was all there.

I'm not going to go into details because, one, you already know I have bad memory, and, two, I cannot, absolutely cannot describe it.

Everything that happened next was pretty much okay, so I won't bore you with details. Now, finding out where I was going to stay: _that_ was interesting, for me, at least.

I was lead upstairs by Bela, who showed me her room.

Now, can I just say? I really have to get out more. If I did, maybe I would have realized that Bela had a certain love for donuts.

Okay, maybe not love. I think _obsession_ is the word.

Maybe I could forgive the lighting for looking like a donut - I mean, they do make round - shaped bulbs, seeing as I have some at home, right? But I guess that's when the whole normality thing ends. Because everything else screamed "_Hello, Donut!_"

Donut patterned toy chest. Donut holding stuffed toys. Donut pillows. Donut adorned tea set (squished in a little corner, with matching donut stools and a table). Even her bed was a donut thing. I mean.. yeah, okay, you think that there'd be a hole she'd fall into. There was, but instead of a hole that could break a neck, the middle portion was a waterbed-esque thing, and it was pretty cool, and probably pretty expensive.

"Uh. You must love donuts." I commented, a bit bewildered.

It was, needless to say, themed very well. She nodded her head enthusiastically.

"Yes!" She pulled me in. "This is Kaloy." Half expecting a donut - related name (Sprinkles, Raspberry, Holey, I dunno), I smiled at her bear, staring up at me with cuddly eyes and upturned yarn mouth. "He's my favoritest bear."

I looked at it. It certainly looked as though it did withstand a lot of cuddling and yanking and tea parties. "He's adorable." I told her, as she set him back down. She beamed up at me.

"That's why I love him."

After a brief introduction to all her stuffed friends, gathered around her donut tea set, I stumbled out of her room, at a loss on where to go and what to do next. I looked around, somewhat confused, as the doors that lined the beautifully decorated walls made me question whether or not I should just try one, and possibly walk in on someone taking a trip to the loo, or something.

"My God." I muttered, at a total loss. Now would be an excellent time for Oliver to do those near-apparition appearances, much like a pop-up advertisement on muggle technology, seeing as he does it so quietly, so well, and so annoyingly.

"Anything you need, dear?"

Apparently it was not only Oliver who could sneak up on people, and seemed to find pleasure in it, no matter how well they could conceal. It was all a matter of inherited traits. Mrs. Wood stood right behind me, a concerned look on her face. It was really an all-of-a-sudden thing, so, naturally, I freaked out for a second, and took like one huge leap backwards (in case the person might have been holding a butcher knife), causing me to bump into this old dude's porcelain head, more commonly known as a bust, and giving me like two seconds to save it, which I didn't, and which Mr. Wood had to do for me

. Oliver, being the timely person he is, caught the whole minute chaos in full view, standing by the nearest door a few steps back from where his mother stood. Being the gracious, gentlemanly host he is, he did the most gracious, gentlemanly thing any person could do: he laughed.

Which is, you know, extremely rude and annoying. Being a posh little boy, he should have learned, from all those etiquette lessons he must have taken in his posh little life that one shouldn't make fun of people when they're in an embarrassing situation. I'm sure it must have been mentioned like once, in between those classes where they teach you how to eat with a gazillion forks and knives and whatever, that you shouldn't laugh, or find anything amusing about someone in a humiliating circumstance.

Apparently, Oliver must have been a naughty, inattentive little boy.

Makes sense.

I looked determinedly away from Oliver, straight into Mrs. Wood's face. Timidly, I plucked up the courage to ask, "I was just wondering. Where am I going to stay? Just so, I can, uh, unpack." I explained quickly. I didn't want to seem impertinent. A beautiful smile crossed her face. I could see why Oliver has such a good-looking face. Really.

"Oh, Oliver, honey. Show Alex your room, won't you?"

I watched as the smile that mocked me constantly slide off. He seemed to have totally lost his composure. "What? Why? What for?" He spluttered. She turned to smile at him.

"Oh, Oliver. Silly boy. She's staying with you of course."

* * *

As if I really wanted to sleep there.

Like it was my freaking fault, you know. God. Youd've thought I had thought of the freaking idea.

But whatever.

Oliver can be a sore fart if he wants. It's none of my business. All I knew was that today, I was going to spend the day with Bela.

Okay, not really. But I really was going to go with her to visit some friend's house. Luckily, I did not have to partake in the tea parties and such. I simply had to watch them. Oliver was, of course, not coming. He seemed to be set on avoiding me altogether. Which is fine by me. Again, he can be a sore fart. It's none of my business.

Bela, as mentioned, was going somewhere. To be more precise, she was off to a friend's house, a certain Kallie Solette she seemed to be partial to. With further interrogation, I extracted that she was actually best friends with her, and that they met often to play. Which, you know, I just remembered that that's what kids actually do. Play. Because I don't remember much about playing, really, seeing as I was too stupid. But, oh, well.

We reached the door to the Solette's house, and she looked at me. I stared back, at a loss. "Uh, yes?"

"Doorbell?" She explained. I realized she couldn't reach the string hanging off the overhead mini-roof. Right. I rung the doorbell, and I could hear the "ding-dong" resonate through the house.

"Coming!" A male voice called. I was surprised that, if ever I had thought that Kallie was a boy, which I didn't, I did not think that he would have hit puberty that fast. A loud thump that could have only been someone jumping down was heard, and the door opened.

"Oh, hey, Bela. Who's your friend?"

My heart stopped, my breath got caught.

Okay. So not an eleven - year old.


	12. Top Five Reasons

Top five reasons why I actually prefer staying in Oliver's house, and not mine:

5. I don't have to deal with my siblings. Okay, cut out the 's'. Sibling.

Yes. As of this Christmas Break, I am _free_ of Macy, and there will be no borrowing of clothes or arguing with her noise, or finding stuff I shouldn't find at all in my lifetime. I will not have to spend a day with her for two or so months, which actually really makes me feel happy. Because ,well, I just don't like the prospect of always having to do her will ("Get me a pillow, will you?", or "Could you tell him/her to leave a message, I'm going out with -insert person's name here that is most likely a boy-. Thanks."). Now that I can enjoy the fact that I can rest and read and spend time with Bela, I feel very at ease.

4. Oliver's parents don't coo. I mean, they don't fuss. Yes, they are concerned, which is really nice of them, but it is not some exaggerated kind of "Oh my God, are the sheets clean for -insert name that would probably be Oliver's?- **comes along with panicked running around**". Which is what my parents would do. Which is, you know, very, very sweet of them to care, and to want to be good, because they are. Good, I mean. But they sometimes take it a wee bit overboard. Yeah. But it does get funny. Sometimes.

3. My neighbors don't have a soundproof booth. Sadly, we don't either.

2. As stated above, I can rest and spend time with Bela, who is the sweetest girl ever. She's childish, yeah, but she's not a brat. Unlike some older people.

**And the number one reason why I actually prefer staying in Oliver's house, and not mine:**

1. With the spending time with Bela, I reaped something very promising: _Taylor._


	13. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

Have you ever read those love novels where the girl meets the guy for the first time, and the description goes something like "He was tall and lean, with broad shoulders and deep green eyes, and had shoulder-length hair, with a smile that melted -character-'s heart"?

Well, pretend I'm a published writer.

And let's say I was trying to describe this guy named Taylor Solette. You know. Just for kicks.

Would it suit you if I said, 'He was tall and lean, well-built and had the nicest gray-blue eyes Alex had ever seen in her life, which, actually, she did not encounter anyone else with that kind of eyes, but oh, well, and had honey - colored hair that seemed to light up in the sunlight, giving him the angelic aura that her to-be husband didn't seem to have, and had a bemused face that was a bit embarrassing but nevertheless sweet and handsome on his face"?

Because, seriously, if not... I guess you could just try searching up a more perfect face with a matching perfect description. Because that's all I could say.

"Hi Taylor. This is Alex." Bela explained in a rushed breath. "Where's Kallie?" She tried to look past him, up the stairs that were being blocked by his tall frame. "Is she ready?"

"Hi, she's upstairs, and no, she is NOT ready."

"Not ready." Bela echoed, then raised her eyebrows, and I saw the similarity between her and her brother within a split second. "Why not? I told her we were going, did she remember?" She looked cross. "What IS it that you two are going to do that is so important that you can't wait for her even though she's in the loo?" He looked skeptical. "Quidditch." She answered simply.

"Quidditch. And what are you in a hurry for, just for QUIDDITCH?"

"The boys from Waterbridge keep saying that we're not good in Quidditch just because we're girls. Well," She said haughtily, "We're going to prove to them that not only are we good, we are BETTER than them." She spat out with ferocity frightening for an eleven year-old. "Oh. Kallie! Bela's here!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Said another voice from inside, and soon, a girl, exactly Bela's age (only a bit taller), came running out, a broom slung well over her shoulder. Her hair was an auburn brown, light almost to the point that it looked red, cut short into a somewhat boyish style. Her eyes were sharp, a startling bright blue, with a hint of green circling the rim. Her attire consisted of long shorts, a shirt that had "PUDDLEMERE" on the front, and sneakers of which the laces were poorly tied, with a bandaid on her knee. "Hey Kal!" Bela greeted with much enthusiasm. "Ready to kick Waterbridge boy butt?"

Kallie looked startled. "Bels. **I'M** from Waterbridge." She pointed out. "Right. Sorry." She pulled at her companion's arm. "Well, we've got to show them our stuff, so let's go!"

"So, Alex, Bela's friend. Coming?" I couldn't help but stare as he shut the door behind him. Even that seemed fluid. "Uh. I guess so." We began walking towards wherever they went. I, of course, did not know where we were going, but Taylor seemed to, so I followed him.

"So, Alex, Bela's friend. I'm Taylor." He said, properly introducing himself. I nodded. "I'm Alex." I said, dumbly, not taking notice of the fact that he already called me "Alex, Bela's friend" like twice. "Nice to meet you." He continued, sounding like he really meant it. "What are you, her babysitter?"

"Whose? Bela's?" When he nodded, I shook my head. "No. Someone like her doesn't need a babysitter." He raised his eyebrows. "So... Why are you here?"

"Excuse me?"

"Not to seem rude, but I haven't seen you here before. I'm pretty sure you don't go to Waterbridge." He explained. "Yeah. I'm from Hogwarts." I answered, rubbing the back of my neck. "Hogwarts? Interesting. I hear a lot about that school."

"Yeah. I guess it's famous." He chuckled at my words. "No. I hear a lot about it from Bela and Oliver." I was astounded. "You know Oliver?"

"Of course. Actually, I was expecting him to bring Bela, not you. Not that I'm complaining, or anything. Nice to talk to someone NOT Oliver, not to seem rude, again." I didn't know if that was supposed to make me happy, so I just said, "You and Oliver are close?"

"Close? Depends. Guys like him and me can't get 'close', seeing as our interests contradict each other. You could say it's a... Competetive friendship." He chose his words carefully. Upon reaching a clearing by a large building that could only be Waterbridge, the hoops of a Quidditch field looming over everyone, we chose a bench and sat down, where we spotted Bela and Kallie conversing (quite heatedly upon my observance) with a few other boys.

"So, you still haven't answered my question."

"Uhh..."

"Why are you here?" I looked up. "I'm... Spending time with Bela." I said, not knowing what else there WAS to say. "I mean... You know." He scratched his head. It did not go unnoticed to me that this looked quite attractive.

But shut up, hormones.

"You don't really look like a Wood, or anything." He said. I caught on. "Oh, no. I'm not." I replied.

"So what are you, his... Girlfriend or something?"

"EW, NO." He looked startled by my reaction to this simple question. I felt my cheeks heat up. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."

"Yeah, sorry. It's just... Nothing."

"So why are you here?"

"Visiting." I evaded it with caution. "Friends of family?" He asked.

"You could say that."

I could not tell this guy that I was engaged to Oliver. How stupid and humiliating would that be? And, God, what a wimp **I** am. Instead, I went, "How long have you known the Woods?" Taylor leaned back, amd looked at me, apparently thinking. I need not mention I found his face extremely appealing. "I don't know. Quite long, I should think. Oliver and I used to talk a lot when we were kids. But definitely not about the same thing. Quidditch," He explained before I could ask, "Isn't exactly an interest of mine."

THIS was new.

I had never met a guy (maybe aside from my dad, but you get the point) who had ever said "Quidditch is NOT an interest of mine". I mean, I'd been spending so much time with Oliver My-Room-is-a-Quidditch-Shrine Wood, I'd practically concluded that guys worshipped Quidditch. Obviously, Taylor Solette had proved me VERY wrong.

"Really." I could not seem to make that a question. I sounded like a disbeliever. Which, I kind of was. I mean...

This guy was admittedly good-looking, and also didn't like Quidditch. What are the ODDS.

"Yeah. Really." He looked away, squinting up at the sky where dots zoomed across the azure sky. It made me wonder how many were on each opposing team. "So... What ARE you interested in?" I tried to keep the conversation flowing. I was bad at it, I knew. But I couldn't help it - I was intrigued ever since "Alex, Bela's friend". Sue me.

"Music." He stated simply. I was really taken aback this time, and I made no effort to hide it. "I play the violin." He informed me, quietly, because I know that he knew that some people find i quite odd and a bit insane that guys play violin. Except, thank God, I'm not like that.

And besides, it seemed to fit. An angelic instrument for an angelic boy.

And I've only known him for... Okay, get real. 45 minutes?

"Wow." I breathed, at a loss on what to say. "Wow?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow. I shook myself out of my state. The last thing I wanted to do was humiliate myself in front of a cute guy.

Yes, I know. I am SO not the type, and even I know I am highly incapable of crushing on someone.

But right now, I can change. Really. I CAN.

"I mean... Like... Wow. I've never met anyone who could play the violin. Really. It's so... Cool." I murmured, genuinely meaning it. He seemed to sense that too. "You think so? That's really nice of you." He smiled, and I got dazzled.

Dazzled. Star-struck, practically. An earthly Adonis, sitting next to me, having a conversation that didn't connote annoyance or anger or sarcasm (provided by parties me and Oliver). And he didn't seem to find me THAT weird.

That was good, right? Taylor seemingly not finding me weird.

Hmm. Taylor.

A perfect name for a pretty much perfect - seeming boy.

OH MY GOD.

SHUT UP, MIND.

x

"Did you kick Waterbridge boy ass?" I asked as we walked home. Bela had a satisfied look on her face. "Yeah, of course. Girls are better than boys."

I couldn't say no to that.

We reached the house, where we saw Mrs. Wood sitting in the kitchen, jotting down things on paper, apparently busy. But she looked up, and a smile graced her face. "Hi girls. Had fun today?"

"Hi mom!" Bela greeted, beaming at her mother. "Hi, Mrs. Wood." I added, and she nodded at me, still smiling. "What did you do today?"

"Quidditch!" Bela said without skipping a beat. "How come your brother didn't come?"

Because he was being a girl about it. All, _"I'm not going to come if you're going to go, you can take her, I have much better things to do". _Which, you know, made me wonder what "Better things to do" was. Because even he has a hard time finding out what to do next. Now he has SO important things to do? I don't think so.

"I don't know with him. But Alex came, so that's okay by me." She shrugged nonchalantly, as if she couldn't care less. "Okay. Go change, honey, and tell your brother to come down and help make dinner, please." Bela nodded, running up the stairs. A muffled banging could be heard, followed by a very annoyed "WHAT?".

"Mom says come down."

"Tell her I will be, in a minute." 

"She said NOW."

Thud by thud, I listened to Oliver's footsteps trod down the stairs, connoting that he was in a very disturbed mood. In a second, he strode in, tired looking. "What, mom?" Mrs. Wood handed him a chopping knife, and pointed a slim finger towards a chopping board, where potatoes were stacked in a neat pile. "Use some of that muscle and help your mother out, dear?" Oliver seemed to struggle with his inner self. "Okay."

"Good. Alex, would you mind if you kept him company? I have to go upstairs - His father and I are going to a benefit tonight, so you three will be dining alone..."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Wood. I'll make sure Oliver doesn't die trying to cut potatoes." I saw him scowl darkly as he chopped a potato with immense ferocity and strength. "Thank you, dear. Oliver, cut those properly, will you, don't break the board." She instructed him with a certain fondness. With one last glance, she left the room.

I took a potato in my hand. "You know what?" I rolled it around my palm, catching it as it rolled off each hand. "This one looks an awful lot like your head."

"Gee, thanks." He muttered, driving the knife deep into a potato, making a clean cut. With deeper inspection, I saw he had also made a mark on the board. "No, really. I mean, look at it." I placed it beside his face, so much so that it did everything but kiss his cheek. "It's SO like yours."

"Please, Scott - Alex. Is it possible for you not to annoy me for at least FIVE minutes?"

"I've been out the whole day." I pointed out. He exhaled sharply through his nose. "I mean while you're tagging along me."

"Excuse me, I do NOT tag along." I snapped, trying to keep my dignity in check. "Besides, MY head doesn't look like a potato. Why should **I** be bitter about it?" I smirked, and another loud _thwak_ found its way to my ears. A smile found its way to his face. "Do you know what day it is today, by the way?" He asked.

"Uhhh. No."

"It's the 20th of December. Do you know what that means?"

"Christmas is like... Five days away? Whoopee!"

"Scott - Alex." He had such a hard time saying my first name. It was kind of funny. "Today is the day our charm gets lifted." He did not look up as he said this - he seemed intent on cutting now. I gaped in shock and disbelief.

"NO WAY."

"Yes, way, Alex. I'm finally-"

"FREE OF YOU. NO WAY."

"Thank you." He said stiffly. "Oh, I didn't mean anthing by it, Potato Hot Head." I said cooly, regaining my posture. He stopped chopping.

"Potato Hot Head?"

"I'm so smart, right? Right." I answered myself. This was really amusing - the feeling of ecstasy was making me boldly giddy. He rolled his eyes, resuming his chore. "Let's see if it worked." I began to inch away, out of the kitchen, out of the living room, up the stairs.

"Isn't the fact that you went with Bela without me HAVING to go already proves it?" He called out. Oh yeah.

"Was that why you decided to stay home?" I asked, tumbling back in. "Yeah. You could say that." He said, his voice flat, uncomfortable. "Okay, FINE. Be that way."

"Let's not talk about me. Let's talk about you. What did you do with my sister today?" He said, lightening his tone. I pretended not to be surprised. "Had fun."

"Doing what?"

"She and Kallie played Quidditch against some Waterbridge assholes."

"Oh, and what did you do?" He asked, a mocking look on his face. I glared. "I happened to be sharing a very intelligent conversation with someone."

"I," He put down the knife and looked up,"Find that hard to believe. But do tell." He said with feigned courtesy.

"For your information, I experienced a more interesting conversation with someone than I will ever have with you in my life." I announced. "Don't be mean. I'm trying to be... I don't know. In the zone, is that what you call it?" He went over to the sink and rinsed the knife. "Oliver, you know you can never be "in the zone". You're too caught up in Quidditch."

"Excuse me. I am not." He said with defiance. I raised my eyebrows. He sighed in defeat. "Fine, maybe I AM. But I mean... I'm trying to be nicer, does that account for something?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Okay, so who did you share this 'intelligent conversation' (he made quotation marks in the air, knife in hand) with?" He pressed. I sniffed. "Kallie's brother, Taylor."

Although his back was to me, I had thought I saw him go rigid. But maybe not. I don't know.

"Taylor. Taylor Solette?" He asked casually, although there was much stiffness in his voice. The question was a throw-away, probably, for someone who didn't care. And it should have been for him. A throw-away question, I mean. Why WOULD he care? Makes no sense.

Maybe his manperiod was giving him imaginary cramps.

"Yes. You know him, don't you?" I said with the same nonchalant tone - genuine, might I add. "You're friends, right?"

"Friends, in the loosest term made by mankind." He said, still not turning around. I expected that when he decided to (however long that was going to take), he would end up having the wrinkliest hands ever, due to major osmosis. I pretended that I had not heard something vaguely similar from the person in question. "Really. Why is that?"

"Taylor Solette has never been the type to fall for Physical Education."

"Funny, he seems well educated in that area, from what I observed."

"Yeah, it kind of makes me wonder how good of a liar he really is."

I rolled my eyes. Talk about serious pessimism issues. "That's kind of a mean thing to say. He said you were something like childhood friends." I informed him bluntly. "Did he? Well, childhood was a long time ago, don't you agree?"

"So you think musical geniuses like Taylor Solette are too uncool for the likes of the Quidditch Hero Oliver Wood?" I huffed, coming to Taylor's defense. Sure, sure. I know Oliver better. But Taylor isn't a sour old fart, remember that. PLUS his head doesn't look like a potato. That gives him full credit, if you total it up with his great looks, personality and violin skills.

"Uh, sure. Whatever suits you, you believe that." He said, turning around finally. My eyes immediately flew to his hands. "What?" He demanded, as I laughed loudly.

"I was right! Your hands ARE wrinkly!" I choked through my laughter. He glared with the intensity of the burning sun. "They aren't always. Merlin's Beard, Scott, you're not as smart as people say you are."

"At least I don't look like a potato." I shot back with all the wit I could muster without bursting into fits of giggles again. 

"Oh, grow up." He recommended snappily. "Only when you will!" I chirped out jauntily, submitting to the huge, ironic contrast between my tone and the situation. Silently, he stormed out of the kitchen, where, moments later, I heard a door slamming shut quite clearly.

Well, whatever.

I picked up the knife he had left behind and placed it back.

Yeah, okay, sure. Oliver is going to marry me, whoopee, I'm just DYING for that to happen. And yeah, as I've admitted before, he is rather fetching.

But,

A. He is moody, almost to the point of being bipolar, and always leaves me like one step behind,

B. He is obsessed about Quidditch, which I cannot fathom,

C. He is not good - natured. He can be, of course, seeing as we started out something to that effect. And, okay, yes, I screwed that bit up, so now he and I are more or less on a be-a-jerk-to-each-other relationship. But who needs him?

Taylor, on the other hand, is,

A. Very sweet, and very calm,

B. A music protege, much to my delight, meaning he is automatically both soulful and smart, which is admirable,

C. He is nice to everyone, even to those rude Waterbridge boys who called him a loser for coming to watch his sister play Quidditch, and told him to go stick his violin in a place that shouldn't be mentioned in public. Ignoring is being nice, trust me. I'm pretty sure Oliver would have shown a few things those kids could stick up their unmentionable venues.

D. He seems to genuinely like me. Not in the whole like-like way, but in the she's-okay-to-hang-out-with way. This really accounts for something.

If we tally all this up, of course, Taylor has more points, 4 to 3.

So, yeah, Taylor pretty much wins.

"Oliver's mad again?" Bela shook her head sadly. I raised my eyebrows.

"Again?"

"He's been like that for a long time. But don't mind him." She suggested.

"That's not so hard."

"Good. Because you'll need to do that A LOT nowadays."

I rolled my eyes. As I said, Oliver and his PMS can do whatever they want, hand in hand. As of now, my problems with Oliver will not occupy a single space in my conscious mind.

Yeah, because it's too busy tirelessly watching re-runs of Taylor's face.

I'm a loser, I admit. I'm dreaming about a guy I could never, EVER have.

But seriously. If I can dream about something, ANYTHING that is NOT Oliver, I'd take that chance, whatever it may be. And if we're talking about dreaming about a very handsome guy like Taylor Solette, then why ever not?

x.fin.x

A.N.: Yeaboi. Taylor pwns.

I know this chapter is pretty messed up, and I'm sure you'll comment that. So I want to say it now: I'M SORRY! I will REALLY make up for it, I PROMISE.

Thanks for all the reviews, and to all my faithful readers (OMG, what is this, the grammys? laugh), and to Bela and Kallie.

Yes, they are real people. I'm not that much of an imaginer to make up such awesome people. hug THANKS BLA and KAL.

Also, I haven't acknowledged my reviewers, and I'm SO bad for doing that, so, since i have such a long AN, let's do it nowwwz. So I'm gonna start from the very start, from the first review. Alrighty.

THANKS TO: **Patented Rain Clouds, Noc007, Virginia Forever, SkiErS, Canadian Harry Potter Fan, kimi, Vixen, padfootal99, Tainted Impurity, Laguna's twin sister, campanula1979, Joyce, Xingo, WhY.Do.I.eVeN.BoThEr., oboi, SakuraShrirubi, hazelelf1183, XxKallianCSxX, Akuma no Komodo, x.F.w.A.n.K.i.E.x, rainbow cookies, colorblind, Readerfreak10, cHoCoLaTe - RuM, mwahaha, and KaitsSlytherin.**

To those I didn't mention, Sorry it just said NA. DX THANKS SO MUCH ANYWAYS, ILY.

Okay, Grammy time over. R&R.

I just seriously felt I looked ungrateful, coz I never said thankees. But now I have. And Ima say it again: THANKYOUUUU. ILY guys SOOO much. You make my day.

Even though I can't get Pretty. Odd.. Dang. Kal. You know it. :lmfao 3

R&R! 3

--Eme.


	14. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

Dinner would now most probably be my favorite meal of the day.

Why? I'll tell you why, of course.

Because Dinner is a time for SHARING.

**Cue AWWW moment**.

Yes. Dinner is a time where we share our deepest, darkest secerts, our greatest fears, our childhood dreams, and what you did with your bowel when you weren't potty trained yet.

Okay. Scratch that last bit.

But, really. Dinner at the Wood's has never been funner. Sure, before THIS dinner, I used to sit quietly, uncomfortably, and I felt extremely self conscious. This particular dinner was the one where the ice pretty much broke.

I don't recall ever spending a day at the Woods' mansion where I had actually and genuinely laughed and smiled without having to feel all fake and crappy about it. Really. What I laughed at, now that I recall, makes me feel even better.

Oliver.

Yeah, I know. How mean of me, laughing at someone. I, of all people, should know how bad people feel when others laugh at them.

I would just like to point out, please, that I did NOT start the whole laughing-at-Oliver conversation, okay? It was Bela. Not me. I was innocently eating food, you know. The Wood siblings were talking, about everything and anything. So I chewed, my mind slipping in and out of the conversation, only taking in some interesting things here and there. Bits and pieces flowed in and out.

"... Getting a new wand this week, maybe you should too..." (yeah, Bela's wand acted up. I remember that.)

"... Bad memories in Diagon Alley." (I wonder what those were.)

"... Mom... Looking through... stuff... Photo Albums!" (My interest perked here.)

"What... looking at?" (Yes, Oliver, now turning the shade of red that is both amusing and attractive.)

"...Old stuff... Pictures... You... Bagpipes!" (Here, my head snapped up, as Bela was laughing her pretty little head off. I now decided I would pay closer attention to this little heart-to-heart.)

"Bagpipes? What about those?" I piped up for the first time. Oliver refused to look anywhere else but his plate, and the pink tinge crept up to his ears. Bela took this opportunity to explain what the whole bagpipe issue was about.

"Mom was looking through our old stuff - you know, things that she thought we could throw out or whatever. She came across these old photo albums she hid sometime before. And," here, she did her best to stifle a small giggle that would have turned into something boisterously loud had Oliver not given her this burning stare. "Well, she was looking through them, and I came in, and she told me to come 'look at my brother when he was just a baby', or something like that. And we came across this picture." At this point in the story, she extracted a photo.

Okay, before I continue, I would just like to say that, at that point in time, I had thought that skirts were only made for girls. You know. The femininity of the arcticle of clothing that is a skirt is extremely profound. I had thought it was practically illegal (not to mention humiliating) for a boy to wear a skirt.

Apparently, Oliver Wood, Captain of the Quidditch Team of Gryffindor, buff, macho man who could not talk about anything besides his love for magical sport which is a known trademark for masculinity, just proved my beliefs wrong.

"Who is that? OLIVER? Is that a _**SKIRT?**_"

"It is a KILT." He answered stiffly, determined not to make eye-contact.

Well, whatever it was, it sure as anything looked like a skirt.

There he was, little baby Oliver, no older than around 7 or so, bagpipes almost drowning him in its vastness. A smile was on his face - the huge grin he gets when he's won a game or something, except on a smaller, younger face. He wore a white shirt, and of course, that ski - I mean, KILT. (Whatever.) It was A**DORK**ABLE (har har. I crack myself up).

"OLIVER!!" I cooed, unable to resist. This was the type of blackmail I longed to have in my possession.

"SAY NO MORE." He ordered, stabbing at his food, while Bela and I did everything but fall off our chair laughing. "Oh, shut up, you." He added, as Bela began imitating playing imaginary bagpipes.

"Come on, Oliver, be a good sport." I suggested, grinning from ear to ear. He rolled his eyes. "Well, if it shuts you up, I'd just like to say that Taylor Solette used to be in that bagpipe class too." He informed me, in a smug, desperate-attempt-to-throw-me-off kind of manner.

Well, it worked.

"Really, now?" I said, attempting my best to look curious rather than taken aback.

"Yes, of course. Didn't he mention that, in one of those 'intelligent conversations' you so share?" He said, the quotation marks emphasized by his annoying hand movements.

"What IS it with you and your issues with his obvious superiority to you, in terms of both skill AND looks?" I said hotly. His eyes widened momentarily in disbelief, and then narrowed into slits of irritation. "Excuse me, I do believe your words are quite inaccurate." He spat out with forced politeness.

Obviously, I had struck a nerve.

And, as you may have already noticed, Oliver isn't the type of guy who just shrugs off a admit-it-someone-is-so-much-better-than-you comment. I'm positive it's not because it's an untrue thing, what I said about him and his "issues".

"OH, and what makes you say that?" I struggled, to keep my voice level. It wasn't because I liked him was why I was coming to Taylor's defense. It was, of course, part of the reason, but absolutely not wholly.

Okay, so I'm lying. Clearly, I fail at doing so.

But, in my defense, I feel I have every right to say that there is every reason for me to like him.

Taylor, as I may have mentioned sometime before, is a perfectly courteous, even-tempered, sweet gentleman, with a more than just a few perfectly beautiful traits, physically speaking. Nor does he seem to show aggresion in any case of competition (coughcoughOLLIEcoughcough) or provokation (coughcoughHEYOLIVER,WHAT'SUPcoughcough). Besides, I enjoy spending time with him, as compared to spending time to an extremely ticked-off boy (notice, I did not say guy, or dude, or, heaven forbid, man). You can weigh the odds.

"I think it's because I have absolutely no issue with Taylor Solette's "superoirities", due to the very obvious fact that he has no "SUPERIORITIES" over me, thank you very much." He said with finality. I rolled my eyes.

"You can be such a brat. Why can't you just admit that there are some people in this world that can be better than you? I mean," I was on a roll, and Oliver had actually bothered to open his mouth, probably thinking he could slip in a little argument there, only to find there was no room, and close it again. "I mean, you don't have to be the best. No one's the best. Why can't you take being upstaged by someone SOMETIMES? You can't take all the credit, all the glory, because that makes you look like a self - centered, selfish, and annoying KID. FURTHERMORE," I breathed here, slowly, but not slow enough for Oliver to make an input, which he actually seemed to have lost in my possibly senseless, yet furious rant. "Taylor Solette DOES have superiority over you, due to the fact that he is NOT an egocentrical, childish, arrogant sociopath-at-home like you."

Bela blinked at us, and the electiricty of the intensity of our glares at each other was almost tangible.

"I'm not hungry anymore." He muttered under his breath.

I also realized another point: Taylor, as a boy, rarely mutters, which is, I observed, something boys do a lot. Something I would have shouted out to Oliver, but decided against, seeing as I would have nowhere to go if he decided to throw me out of the house, which he was both physically and lawfully capable of doing. He stormed up the stairs, and was heard making a scene on his own by banging the door of his room. A small click was heard.

Looks like I was sleeping with Bela.

x

Guys don't apologize.

And neither, apparently, do girls.

I know the usual case in a boy-girl relationship is that one of them, when they've encountered a problem, one or the other tries to apologize. One way or another, they also usually end up getting together, each fault absolved, again.

Now, the miracle in this is that Oliver and I are not together.

So, really, I'm not sure the whole being sorry, and blaming it on myself thing was going to work out. Not really, no.

It went on and on - the only time I actually saw Oliver was during dinner time. Most of the day, he locked himself up in his room, mulling and sulking over Merlin knows what.

But today, he would not ruin anything for me.

Why?

IT'S CHRISTMAS.

OH YES. The time of giving and sharing and loving and caring had come. Today, we would be unwrapping shiny presents from under the humongous Christmas Tree the Woods had set up in the living room. The lights twinkled from the decor, and St. Nicholas smiled happily from his sleigh, a figurine set up beside the tree. The star pulsated with eerie, yet aesthetic golden light.

We were sitting on arm chairs, cushions, whatever, holding mugs of eggnog and waiting eagerly for midnight.

Apparently, we weren't allowed to open our presents till midnight.

Which was just fine. I'd rather put off Oliver's present from me to him for later on. Better to see and revel in the shock in his face for the rest of the night rather than just watch it come and go.

Besides, it was a great, great surprise.

Bela squirmed in her seat, as if that would help the clock's hands move faster. "MOMMMM. CAN'T WE OPEN OUR GIFTS NOW?" She pleaded, eager to see what presents were in store for her this year, underneath all the bright paper and ribbons. "Bela." Mrs. Wood said, with a look that gave one meaning only: wait or no presents.

Which is like hell for all of us. Except probably MUCH MUCH WORSE.

Because, you know, it's better not getting gifts at all. If they're there, but you can't open them, it's kind of like the Fields of Punishment on rerun for the next thousand months or so. They're just going to be sitting there, waiting, while you stare at them with longing as the paper turns dull and less metallic-y (honestly, that's one of the coolest things about wrapping paper,) and you never know if you got a toy or a book or a wand or a potato.

Yeah. A potato.

Isn't it so obvious? I'm so transparent. Honestly. I should get a special mention. An HONORABLE mention. Even a plaque.

"It's midnight, mom." Oliver sighed, checking his watch. "Our clock is late by around 10, 15 minutes."

"No, it's not." Mrs. Wood said indignantly. Great. So now we wait until 12:10 AM to open our presents? Seriously. Eggnog isn't caffeinated, or anything. At least, I don't think it is.

"Actually, Marie, Oliver is right, it's midnight." Mr. Wood announced, picking up a large box and examining the card. Mrs. Wood obviously noticed she was outnumbered. She let out a breath of surrender. "I suppose you can open them now."

Colorful paper flew all over the room. Shreiks of delight came from Bela. Gasps of wonder escaped Mr. and Mrs. Wood's lips as they observed gift after gift. Oliver, opening the smallest present last, let out a well - versed, wonderfully said, "WHAT in the name of MERLIN is THIS?"

Something dark ocher and lumpy rolled in his hand. A face crudely made by what could only be a dying marker was etched on one of its sides. It's lower half was covered by a strip of green and red checkered cloth, lined with gold.

I knew what it was right away.

Of course. It was MY GIFT, after all. And my gift happened to be Oliver.

Oliver the Potato.

There was a moment of silence, wherein we processed what was in Oliver's palm. It was short - lived, though, as Bela let out peals of laughter loud enough to wake the furniture. Mr. and Mrs. Wood stared a bit longer, then said, "Why, Alex. How... Marvelous. A... potato."

I realized that this could probably end up bad if I didn't explain.

"It was just a gag gift, Mrs. Wood. I swear," Okay, swearing probably wasn't in the rule book of etiquette, but it's a time of forgiveness and love, and all. "I have another gift for Oliver, really."

"I bet you do." He frowned. I did too. "I do, Oliver, really." It sounded less nuptial and more apologetic in my head. It just sort of didn't turn out the way I wanted it to when it came out.

"Yeah, okay. Whatever you say." He muttered sourly, picking up his trash, which possibly included my potato. "Really, now, Oliver, it was such a heartfelt gift." Mrs. Wood scolded him gently, watching as he threw the wrappers and my potato in the trash can mercilessly.

"No, seriously, it's fine." I cut in, before Oliver exploded, like he did so often nowadays. "Sorry, Oliver, really. I have your gift upstairs. Come on, I'll show you." I picked up my gifts, most of which were various articles of clothing, except for a book from Taylor (which was so unique and sweet and thoughtful of him, really, not giving me a shirt, or a skirt, or whatever), and my parent's letter with brownies from home. How they stayed warm and good was a mystery to me. Oliver seemed to be on the brink of protest, but then changed his mind (probably remembering it was A) Christmas and B) illegal to hit a girl), and trudged up the stairs after me, staring pointedly at the steps.

"Okay, you have to close your eyes." I instructed him. He looked at me like I was hanging from a string from the ceiling of a rubber room. "No."

"What? Why not?"

"What if you stick something down my jeans?"

"Oh, disgusting. Close them." He muttered something under his breath that I didn't catch, then covered his eyes. I opened the door, pushing him inside.

"Alex."

"GOD, OKAY. Open."

He lifted his hand, looking around for a split second. Then his eyes landed on the object on his bed.

Wrapped in nothing but brown paper, I beamed at my gift, pleased with myself. In my head, I was thinking, "good job, Alex. You may or may not have actually made him realize you could do something right."

Edging forward, he gazed veneratedly at the figure of the something under the brown paper that was now his. Gingerly, his hands tore at the paper, careful not to make an excited racket, as if the room should be hushed in preparation for the sacred something that he would be seeing.

There it was, after all the brown paper - The sleek, beautiful Lightning Streak lying over his sheets, handle glistening in the light. The golden engraving shone in the light, reflecting in his eyes, which were filled with wonder and awe. "This... Th-- woah. Th... WOAH."

"This, my friend, is your new broom. Beautiful and fast, brand new, and, most importantly, property of YOU, not Hogwarts." I beamed, satisfied that every inch of anger had ebbed away to show his appreciation. "I know. Where...?"

I shrugged. "Bought it in that shop across the wand shop while Bela was buying her wand." It sounded kind of redundant. He nodded, only listening to half of what came out of my mouth. It took a while before he tore his eyes away from the broom to stare at me. He seemed to struggle with his words.

"Th... Thank... Thankyousomuch." He blurted out, like it would hurt to enunciate it nicely. I let it go. We were still on that whole tentatively annoyed and not talking to each other stage. "You're very welcome, Oliver. Though, next time, it would be nice if you showed a little more appreciation, especially to gifts such as potatoes which look like your head, or what have you. Just saying." I added, for good measure. He frowned deeply, obviously reminiscing the not too long ago incident wherein he had dumped my wonderful gift in the bin.

Harsh.

"Oh yeah? Well, what did Taylor give YOU, anyway?" He spat out, all form of gratitude vanishing on the spot, at the moment his mouth pronounced the name, "TAYLOR."

I refused to be put down by such childish behavior on Christmas day. "Taylor happened to give me an interesting book." I informed him proudly. He looked like I told him the sky was falling. Why, I didn't know. "He gave you a book."

I blinked. What was so wrong with that?

I happened to voice this out.

"Well, what's it about, then?"

I shrugged. "About some three kids who tried to commit suicide, and then wound up in this place for, like, psychiatrically challenged people, or something. Looks pretty cool."

"Why in the world would anyone want to read a book that absurd?"

"Why would anyone want to talk to someone so absurd anyway?" I said hotly. "If you aren't going to appreciate good literature, please feel free to waste your life on mindless athletics, where your brain so happens to deteriorate everytime you mount that stupid broom."

"As if you can gain anything slightly intellectual on a book so retarded." He scoffed. I couldn't make a start on hitting him. It would be painful, and not for him.

"What IS it with you anyway?" I almost yelled, exasperated.

"I have no idea what you mean by that." He said cooly. I raised a shaking finger and pointed it right between his eyes. The look on his face, struggling to look at said finger, would have been extremely hilarious, if not for the fact that my blood was boiling.

"YOU are always picking on Taylor, no matter what nice thing he does. Have you ever even heard what he says about you?"

"I assume it's something so heartwarming, it will make me want to cry."

"He says he thinks you're a great athlete, Oliver. And that you're a smart kid, who he'd really like to be friends with, if not for the fact that YOU always push him DOWN." I continued to ramble, unaware that the door had opened and closed, which would later make me wonder how loud I had been.

"I do NOT." Oliver argued. I shook my head. "You shut up, and listen. You always find ways to make fun of him, and you always say that he's like the biggest wimp you've ever met. But you," I jabbed my finger, "Are THE most insensitive person I've ever met, in the 16 years of my life. NO ONE I know is as completely self centered as YOU."

I then had nothing more to say.

"Are you finished now?" He asked flatly, his face void of all emotion. He swatted my finger away from his face.

"You have absolutely no idea who he is, do you?" He said quietly.

"Of course I -"

"No, no. That wasn't a question." I fumed on the inside anyway. He proceeded to saying, "Let me guess. You like him, don't you?"

I gaped.

Then I pouted.

"That's none of your business." I told him. He laughed scornfully, and I found it was the least amused laugh anyone has ever given me. "No, I guess not. But, you know, I think it's time for a history lesson."

"Oh, no, thank you. I've been passing history."

"Taylor Solette and I have known each other since we were quite tiny, though, of course, he may have mentioned that. He also may have told you that there were huge differences between his interests and mine, right? I'm not going to say he's a liar. But he's very good at editing his words."

I didn't know what that was supposed to mean. Obviously, I wasn't really supposed to, because he continued to elaborate.

"One of the few things that Taylor and I actually DO have in common is the fact that he and I, more often than not, end up fancying the same girls."

I licked my lips; they were cracked and dry. I didn't actually know where this was going.

"In situations like these, we tend to compete. I'm also guessing you DIDN'T tell him that we so happened to be engaged?"

"Well, it's not something I generally announce in public." I mumbled.

"That's fine. I just thought you might want to know that this is one of those situations, wherein he usually wins the girl with his charm and wit, seeing as he's already done that, am I correct?"

I was getting impatient. "That's stupid."

"No, it's not." Oliver said, dropping all form of coldness. His face was lined with what seemed to be anguish. "Don't you get it?"

I shook my head.

"This is one of those times when we end up fancying the same girl," Only a tortured whisper came out of his mouth. "And this is one of those times when he ends up stealing her away from me again."

I gulped.

Oh no, oh no, oh NOOOOO.

"He likes you, Alex. And the worst part is, so do I."

x.fin.x

EEE. -ded-

Ollie confessing? Tell me that makes up for my lack of update. D:

I made it a point to finish my update today, seeing as I am leaving for Australia for the next week, and, if I hadn't updated, Bela and Kallie would have diced me up the moment I got back. So.

Hopefully my chapter was satisfactory. I'll be writing in Aussie, though I'm going to go backwards and use the everlasting paper and pen. (:

Cheers, people. R&R. 333333

-emeh.-


	15. Top 5 Surprises in my Life

Top 5 Things That Have Surprised Me In My Life:

5. I am actually still alive, and in one piece. I've been expecting to fall in a ditch, or get run over, or something to that effect, ever since I realized I was a magnet for accidents and bad luck. It would be painful of any of the mentioned happened, though, of course, not surprising if it did.

4. My being a witch kind of threw me off. I mean, no one is all "OKAY, SURE, THAT'S TOTALLY NORMAL," when you've been living a mundane life, then suddenly WHAM, you find out you have the power to make wonders with a stick of wood. Amazing, right?

3. Oliver and my engagement. Self - explanatory, if you've been paying close attention to the most recent events.

2. Oliver confessing. Unnatural. I had thought he was this whole controlled person, who didn't exactly snap or break just because his love life was threatened by one of his childhood friends, though that's a bit unspecific.

And the #1 thing that has never ceased to amaze me until now, though I probably don't have the guts to ever admit it:

1. I like Oliver too. And, oh, my God. I totally blew it.


	16. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**Another chapter with many scene divisions. And each scene is going to be a heck lot shorter than all my old scenes. But then again, a lot of things are gonna happen. I hope that all the short scenes put together will become one sensible, long chappie. Oh well. D; I'm pretty sure some of the shizz I say doesn't exactly make sense. Like right now. But I hope you get, at least the jist. Cheerio.**

Outside the window of Oliver's room, a cat fell out of a tree.

And it made those ugly, annoying, screechy cat sounds that are not unlike meowing while scratching your fingernails on a board, especially when it's all quiet and stuff.

And the funniest thing was, I didn't even notice. I didn't jump, I didn't scream. Which is what a normal person would have done, if their thought were interrupted by a stupid cat falling out of a tree. But it didn't work that way for me.

Because, no matter how quiet it was in the room, my mind was moving, yelling at me, going at a hundred miles per hour. OH MY LORD WHAT HAPPENED THIS IS SO FUNNY WHO AM I KIDDING NO IT'S NOT.

I was surprised at myself that I wasn't drooling, or anything, because, honestly, I think my whole body shut down. Oliver looked at me, like, really really weirdly, and then looked out the window, then back at me, just to check, probably, if I was still alive. Which, he might have assumed, I wasn't.

So I stared back, obviously at a loss, because after all this time, all this time that we had been arguing, and ignoring each other, and being mean, and all, he had liked me.

Yeah, I know. Weird, huh? Oliver Wood liked me.

And it's not as if there's anything wrong with that, for me. I mean, there's nothing wrong with HIM, really. How could there be, him being smart and good-looking and (okay, yeah, I know) athletic? He was every woman's dream. Possibly even mine, at some point. No, it wasn't him.

It was me.

Me always denying that anyone else could make me happy, except myself and the occasional book. I admit. I'm pretty isolated from the rest of the world. No freaking point in denying. So, I mean, I had never thought that Oliver would ever, ever, ever find it in himself to try and like me. Much less tell me that he did. Because, I mean, in truth, what's there to like? You tell me.

And now he goes all admitting over Christmas that he LIKED me? That was completely, totally brave. I had to commend him for it.

And now it made me look like the biggest coward ever. Which I was. Really.

So I gaped. I gaped and gaped and gaped. And I couldn't bring myself to stop.

Not only because I was in shock. But that WAS part of it.

But the more predominant part was me, taking in what I had noticed before, but never really admired, fully, and deeply.

Oliver, and his gorgeousness.

I know, I know. Kill me now.

But, really. Don't tell me that you think he's not beautiful. Because he sure as heck is. Tell me if you think that warm, unfathomable chocolate eyes, a killer smile (though, right now, his lips were curved into what could only be utter confusion), a well - built, toned body and the nicest attitude (at least, to everyone else he didn't seem to hate, though, again, we may have realized that he didn't particularly hate me) ever is NOT beautiful.

Because, seriously. That's gonna be the biggest lie ever.

But Oliver didn't KNOW I was totally drinking in his handsomeness and such. He couldn't, because he can't read minds.

"Uhm. Sorry about that. I guess I scared the life out of you. I think I'll just... go down for a... uhm... yeah." He stood up, then went to the door, glancing back at me one last time before he exited, shutting the door tightly behind him.

At that moment, I decided to snap myself out of the trance.

I know. I'm so very opportune.

I looked around, at a loss. I stared a good long moment at the little depression in the cushion of the bed, where Oliver formerly sat. Then my eyes trailed along, around the scope of the walls, then back to the bed, then to the sidetable. My hands reached out for the book that lay ontop of it, still and untouched. Carefully, I opened it to the first page, vwhere I had intelligently tucked the little christmas card in.

_**To Alex,**_

_**Merry Christmas! **_

_**Much Love, Taylor.**_

Much Love.

Much Love.

Much Love.

Thanks a lot, stupid feelings. Thanks for ruining everything.

I closed the front cover, then crossed the room, hastening out and down the stairs. Bela was seated across the fire, absorbed in another book, (Taylor seemed to fancy giving people books as gifts, or something) and wrapped in a blanket. She looked up as she heard my not-so-light steps come closer.

"Where are you going, Alex?"

"Uhm, out." I replied quickly, pulling on a few coats to sheild me. Bela raised her eyebrows. "Tell your parents, I'll be back, okay? Real, real soon. Thanks Bela, you're the best." I said, hurriedly, making for the door.

"Alex."

I stopped in my tracks. I was afraid she was going to tell me I was going to get in trouble, or even worse, possibly ask me where Oliver had gone.

"Tell Taylor I said thank you for the book, okay?"

I turned to say something, but she was already buried in the pages again, unattentive, and completely innocent.

x

"Alex! Uhm... Hey!"

I didn't say anything. I was too scared.

You would be too, if you were stuck frozen like a gazillion minutes out in the -100 degree chill, waiting in the middle of the night for the guy you supposedly like to come and open the door, which he would, in a matter of a few more minutes, wherein he would be wearing the most bewildered, confused and groggy face ever.

"You... Want to come inside for a bit? You look completely frozen."

I nodded, though I don't think I made such a big, visible nod, because I felt like my muscles were dipped in ice. Taylor opened the door wider, and lead me in, and, somehow, I managed to move my feet until I was there, sopping wet, on the rug that most probably cost more than my entire attire did.

"Want anything hot?" He offered, making for the room to my right, which, I assumed was the kitchen. I shook my head, but he ignored me, appearing after a few moments holding a mug full of steaming hot coffee. I took it, a bit apprehensive, but as I drank it, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of something odd - it was weird that Taylor always seemed to know what to give me, or something.

"So... How's it going? Thanks for the gifts, by the way." He gestured to the boxes, still unopened, under the tree.

"You haven't opened them yet?" I asked, puzzled. "Well, no. Just me, though. Kallie says thanks, I'm sure."

"Where is she?"

"Oh, you know. Asleep." He said, casually. My cheeks burned.

OOPS OOPS OOPS.

"So, what brings you here at this fine hour?" He indicated for me to take a seat, which I did, stiffly, and which he proceeded to do as well, with much ease. "Nothing in particular." I shrugged.

He raised a very skeptic eyebrow.

"What? I'm se - OKAY OKAY, I just came by to say thank you."

His very attractive eyebrow arched further up. I rolled my eyes. As if I really, really had to have a reason to come by. Couldn't a girl just drop by in the middle of the night to say thank you? Or does it always have to have some sort of secret, underlying reason?

I guess so.

"Okay, I'm being completely, totally honest. Really."

"Okay, I believe you then." He said, though his tone rung with obvious disbelief. "You're welcome, then."

I stayed quiet, just nodding, like, yeah, okay, cool. This is going pretty well.

"So... Uhm... Is there anything else you need?" He asked, rolling the flat ball that was our conversation.

"Listen, Taylor... I'm not very up to... Uhm... Going back home yet, really. I'm sorry if this is intrusive, but I - "

"No worries." He shrugged, smiling. "Stay here as long as you like. Heck, you can come live here, and that's fine with me." I smiled back. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, again. Now. Something wrong at home?"

"I'd... I'd rather... Not talk about it, if that's okay with you." I fidgeted slightly, now avoiding his gaze. Why did memories of tonight come zooming back? I was doing just fine. And then Oliver's face cropped up ALL over my mind, him and his apologetic face.

ARGH.

"Okay. So... What is it you DO want to talk about then?" He inquired, catching me momentarily off - guard. "Oh. Uhm. I... I don't know." I looked around his living room for the first time, then spotted a picture on the wall. It looked oddly familiar, like I'd glimpsed it before.

Then I remembered.

"I've seen something like that picture before." I managed to choke out. Taylor followed my gaze. "Oh. Gosh. Yeah. Hm. That ugly thing. Well..." It was the first time I'd ever seen Taylor Solette turn as red as a tomato. He cleared his throat. "Well, if you'd just ignore that - "

"I think it's a very nice picture." I said, trying to sound fond, but only sounding more amused.

"You do?"

"Yes. The color red brings out your eyes. Besides, you have very uhm... pretty legs." I could barely keep down my giggles. He scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, well, after that whole bagpipe fiasco, I just decided to quit and move on."

"You quit?"

"Yeah. Bagpipes? Not my thing. I took violin instead." He shrugged.

"I'd like to see you play sometime." I said honestly. His face instantly brightened up. Even I couldn't have missed it, me being the blind person I was.

"You could..." He muttered tentatively. I moved my hands to show that he should proceed. "Well, you know. I'm having a recital tomorrow evening, and, well... I was wondering..."

"Yeah?"

"Well, would you like to go?"

"To your recital?" I'd never, ever been to anyone's recital before. He nodded. "Well, yeah. I'd like to see you there." He grinned. I couldn't help but reciprocate.

"Yeah, yeah. I'd love that. I really would."

"Awesome." He stood up. "Let me just get the tickets and -"

"Uhm, hey. Could I ask another favor?"

"Anything."

"Well... would it be okay to bring a friend?" I asked, a little shyly. Okay, so I didn't really have friends here, but, hey, he was the closest thing I had, right?

You know who I'm talking about, don't you?

"Yeah, of course." Taylor replied smoothly, walking towards the stairs. "I'll be right back."

x

Okay, so maybe bringing him wasn't the BEST idea.

But I had to think about it in a very optimistic manner.

If I was going to suffer, so would he. It was just fair, right? And, for another, it wouldn't be very gentlemanly and polite of him to complain althroughout the entire waiting time, criticizing everything, from the curtains to the lighting, to the cushioning of the seat, all the way around the entire auditorium up until the people behind us, in front, and, of course, his favorite thing to make fun of : Me.

But that's what he did. Complain and criticize. Which, you know, okay, would have been okay, because I was bored out of my mind too. Except for the fact that, you know, if he wanted to be all angsty about it, he could at LEAST wait for me to do it with him before saying SOMETHING.

I mean, weren't we all suffering?

You big baby.

"I swear to Merlin, you owe me so much." He said gruffly, sinking deeper and deeper into his seat, which, only a few moments ago, he seemed to have found quite uncomfortable - too lumpy, too high, too make-my-pants-ride-up-my-butt.

I mean seriously. Like it was the chair's fault his pants weren't cooperating.

Poor chair.

"I OWE YOU?" I raised my eyebrows in utter disbelief. "I got the darn tickets FOR you."

"YEAH, for FREE."

Okay, so he got me there on that one. But, I mean, it was the thought that counted, wasn't it? I pointed this out to him.

He scoffed. "You only gave it to me because you couldn't find anyone else to go with." He answered, partially amused.

Which was also true, damn him.

The first time he turned the offer down (like, okay, I'm not a salesperson. Thank you very much.), I tried to get people to come. I went around the house asking people if they wanted to go. Oliver even asked why I couldn't ask Taylor, if I was so desperate, seeing as it was so obvious that I wanted to take him.

Which, once again, would be true, but then, he couldn't perform if he was sitting down in the spot Oliver was in NOW, technically, unless, you know, he could repoof himself out of his wand and somehow watch himself violin onstage without drawing much attention.

And I don't think that was very likely. In a situation like that, one or the other dupe could probably screw up. And I don't really think I'd enjoy talking to a screwed-up dupe Taylor while watching the real one do his thing onstage, and all. That would be really weird, and completely insane.

Though why I couldn't have actually asked for a dupe at this particular moment, me, suffering Oliver's incessant ranting, was a real mystery to me, to be quite frank.

So, like, I ended up telling him I couldn't find anyone, and so, out of the "goodness of his heart" (and he said it all martyred and stuff, for pete's sake), he decided to come with me.

And now it was like I was crucifying him or something. At this point in time, I was wishing for nothing more than a serious injury to happen so that he could complain about something worth complaining about.

Yeah, I know. I'm bad. But I'm human too, and you know, if you weren't drooling at the thought of being beside Oliver if you were in my place (something I might have grown immune to), you'd wish that too.

And I know that you probably hate me, after all I've done to Oliver.

But maybe, just maybe, you'd understand at this moment, why I have been a complete bitch to an otherwise lovable guy.

Because, you know, Oliver Wood? Yeah, he's not exactly auditioning to be a carebear, okay?

"You were still my original choice, if you haven't forgotten." I reminded him. He rolled his eyes. "Sure, sure."

_"Ladies and gentlemen, the show will start in five minutes." _This huge, speaker voice announced from all over the auditorium. I turned my head for a moment, catching this weird, constipated look on Oliver's face.

It was all, "Oh great, ew, save me, someone up there, if you can hear me."

Yeah, they can hear you, Oliver. They're just laughing too hard at that stupid face of yours and - okay. Shutting up.

So I decided not to talk to him that much anymore. Or at least, I told myself I wouldn't. But I really hate making promises to myself, because I never keep them.

Besides, if it's something important, I can't not tell, right? Come on.

It took me a few tries in my head till I got it mentally right and chose to do it.

"Uhm. Oliver...?"

"Hmm." So much for trying to make it less of a challenge.

Come on, couldn't someone up there at least have told him to mellow down a bit? Jeez.

"_Ladies and Gentlemen, the show is about to begin._"

I stopped, kind of sort of forgetting what I was about to say. Oliver was still looking forward, but when I didn't say anything after a while, he turned and said, "What?".

I totally forgot. Dude, seriously.

"What what?" I asked, giving him this weird look. He mirrored it on his own face.

"What do you mean WHAT WHAT? You were trying to tell me something, and then you totally forget it?" He demanded. I flushed. Amazing.

"N- yeah, no, okay, the show's starting!" I said, trying to be annoyed instead of embarassed. I don't really think it worked. He raised his eyebrows. "I'll tell you when the curtains go up and whatever, okay, so that no one hears us."

"Why would it matter?"

"Because - Because-" I stuttered, reddening at a beautiful speed, "Well, I don't want anyone to hear me, okay, it's... personal."

The house lights went off, and the curtain began to rise, slowly, but, to me, too quickly. I fiddled with my fingers. It was cold, but my palms were sticky. I thanked God no one would be interested in holding my hands at this point in time.

"Well, now's your chance." His eyes, shining eerily in the dark, made me uneasy. Especially because they were on ME.

Not in that whole perv, or really hot way or whatever. Ew. Just like, "okay, just freaking tell me already." or whatever. I breathed a couple of times over, and began to talk.

"Okay, so I just wanna say, that, like, remember when - "

"SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

We both turned at the exact same time, and saw this really wrinkly prune of a lady with this really annoyed look on her face. Obviously, we were DISTURBING HER.

Geez, lady, get a life, we're all watching something. God. Not that I could say anything to her, because, you know, she was super old, and it would be really bad if she died and all we said to her was, "STFU yourself, Grandma.", so, instead, we just turned away.

"Just, whatever, ignore her." Oliver told me, in a sort of undertone.

I could not achieve the same. I did, however, find my voice growing an octave higher in my next words.

"Well, uhm-"

"SHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"I think I'll just tell you later." I said, giving up, because I couldn't compete with the shhh and the spit that came with it. I honestly didn't want her to do it again.

Oliver, however, was not bothered by the fact that I was taking a saliva bath courtesy of this ancient bat and prodded on. "No, tell me now."

"Well, remember what you said about the whole you liking me and all on Christmas day-"

"SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

"Oh, stick a wand in it!" I growled murderously, losing every bit of respect I had learned for my parents towards elders. I heard someone get up and storm out of the auditorium.

"Yeah, okay, what about that?" Oliver pressed, determined to get what I was trying to say out.

"Well, I was kind of thinking about it, okay, and, well -"

"_Please welcome our next act, playing Meditation of Thais on the violin, Taylor Solette."_

I stopped. Oliver's eyes widened. Everything on his face spelled, "OMFG TAYLOR??" with a capital F. I gaped too, once again losing my train of thought.

As in, I totally got derailed, and my words went from Scotland to the Philippines, all in that second.

Oliver recovered first.

"Hey, uhm. What were you saying?"

"SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" This time, it came from my mouth. Oliver looked totally taken aback.

Taylor stepped up and took the microphone, beaming handsomely. My heart skittered slightly.

"Well, I was really going to play the Meditation, but I recently got inspired by this one beautiful girl I met, and I just - I couldn't help but write her this song. I hope you don't mind."

Many people in the crowd tittered, and looked questioningly at Taylor. Even I wondered. He picked up his bow, and positioned his violin.

"So, if she's out there - if you're out there, I hope you know who you are. I hope you know this is for you." And he began to play.

Everyone fell completely silent. Well, everyone except Oliver.

"Alex-"

"Oliver, leave me alone to listen to him, or I swear I will hurt you."

See? He always ruins the great moments.

x

"Well that was a complete and utter waste of precious time and space and attention."

Yeah, yeah, yeah, does your freaking manperiod come weekly now?

"Are you kidding me? That was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard in my life." I stared pointedly at him. "You just didn't like it because Taylor was there."

I had completely pushed aside the fact that a few minutes before Taylor's performance, I was actually going to admit I felt the same way Oliver did about me.

Though, okay, that was not necessarily my fault. I mean, he was ruining the whole violin thing for me, okay, so I really got pissed off.

I'm human.

"Pssh. YOU just liked it because HE was there. It was a load of rubbish, if you ask me."

"Well, I didn't, so you can keep your rude trap shut." I snapped, walking ahead of him. A huge crowd was gathered in the center of the lobby, and I peered, curious to see what all the fuss was about. A single figure stood in the middle of the large circle. I nearly got a heart attack when I realized who it was.

"Oliver - it's Taylor!"

This was not the best thing to tell Oliver, because, obviously, he would not care.

"So?"

SEE WHAT I MEAN?!

"Well, I want to go congratulate him for a JOB WELL DONE." I answered his stupid question, irked.

"But he's busy, and totally surrounded by people, and you want to congratulate him. Are you out of your rocker?"

"FINE, I'll do it some other time." I replied in a clipped tone, already prepared to jump him if he annoyed me one more time. So much for optimism in this world. I turned on my heel and began to walk away, Oliver right in front of me, obviously very smug for getting his way.

"ALEX! ALEX!!"

I stopped short, surprised. I didn't know anyone here - of course, except Oliver, but I guess he wasn't COMPLETELY stupid as to yell out my name when I was right behind him.

Besides, he was totally facing forward, so yeah.

"Alex!" Taylor came to my side, a bit flustered, but still grinning. "You came! This is great!"

"Taylor, hey!" I greeted, looking back at Oliver, who was slowly turning beet red from afar.

HAH, WHO'S SMUG NOW.

"So, how'd you find it?" He asked, still a little breathless. So was I, but probably not for the same reason.

"It was-" I stopped, searching for the right adjectives. "It was amazing, Taylor. It was PERFECT."

He smiled, and I felt like I was talking to a celebrity. A celebrity in my mind. He could be.

"Did you hear my song, though? Was it okay?"

"Yes. It was beautiful, Taylor." I picked up a teasing tone, one slightly marred by my nervousness to ask. "So who was it for, huh? Who's the lucky girl?" I nudged him, so it would look kind of convincing. He tilted his head.

"You mean - you mean you didn't guess?"

I shook my head, feeling like I was completely missing something.

"Well, it was for you." He informed me simply, his expression totally calm.

"Oh. Haha, very funny. But, seriously, Taylor, who is she? Is she here? Do I know her?" I tiptoed, looking around.

His face was etched with slight hurt. I realized.

"Oh. OH. You were- you were serious."

"Completely." He answered smoothly. I winced. Good job. Nice way to totally make a fool out of yourself. AGAIN. "So, who'd you decide to bring?"

"Me."

I cringed. Oliver appeared right beside me, his face livid. If Taylor noticed, he had absolutely no intention of showing that he did.

"Evening, Oliver. Enjoy yourself?" Taylor asked him politely.

"Sure." Oliver said through gritted teeth. In an attempt to regain himself, he continued. "So. You dedicated that song to Alex, huh? If that was even a song."

"It was a musical composition, and, yes, I did." He smiled at me. "She deserves it, after all. She's very unique."

"I bet you think so." Oliver replied, slightly less controlled. "And I bet it doesn't bother you either that you just dedicated a song to my fiance?"

I choked on my saliva.

"... Fiance?" Taylor wondered, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What do you mean?" He turned to me. I looked away pointedly, refusing to answer any verbal or expressional questions, for fear that I was going to totally break down and tell people everything, including the times when I... nevermind.

"Yeah. Oh, wait, she didn't tell you? Man." For a really annoying, idiot of a man - BOY, he could really fake remorse.

"No. She... never mentioned anything like that." He looked at me again, and I opened my mouth to apologize, to explain. Someone else beat me to it.

"TAYLOR! TAYLOR! CAN I HAVE A PICTURE? IT'S FOR THE NEWSPAPER - "

"I - I have to go. I'll talk to you later, okay, Alex?" He waved, disappearing into the crowd of people praising the most talented teen protege. I asked myself what we would talk about, and if it would involve more marriage, me and Oliver.

Speaking of Oliver.

"OLIVER WOOD HOW COULD YOU??"

"Oliver Wood, how could I WHAT, Alex, WHAT?" He fumed. "He had every right to know - it's not as if you could go on pretending you were so avaliable forever!"

"Available? This has nothing to do with that! We're FRIENDS, something your mind refuses to REGISTER!"

"Then why are you so TOUCHY if you're JUST FRIENDS? If it didn't MATTER, then why shouldn't he KNOW? HUH?"

"THAT'S NOT MY POINT!"

"WHY CAN'T YOU JUST SEE IT AS BEING CONCERNED FOR YOU?" He raged, towering over me.

"CONCERNED?" I huffed, disbelieving on so many levels. "HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE YOU'RE 'CONCERNED' IF ALL YOU EVER THINK OF IS YOURSELF? GOD, I CAN'T BELIEVE I ACTUALLY THOUGHT WE COULD STOP FIGHTING ALREADY! I WISH WE NEVER GOT INTO THIS MESS IN THE FIRST PLACE!"

"WELL, AT LEAST WE AGREE ON SOMETHING!" And with that, Oliver made quite a scene trying to find the exit door, while I stalked right behind, aware that hundreds of eyes were on us.

x

"Well. This was a great night." I commented, entering the house with steam coming out of my ears.

"You think so." He muttered darkly. I glared.

"It was. Up until YOU ruined it anyway." I accused him. He looked completely angered.

"Me? I just told him the TRUTH! What were you going to do - keep it a secret forever? You're not that good. He was going to find out anyway-"

"FOR ALL YOU KNOW-"

"_Ahem." _

We turned at the same time once more, taking in four seated figures we did not notice before, in the heat of our discussion. I gaped.

"MOM? DAD? Wh-what are you- what are you doing here?"

"It's nice to see you too, dear." My mom said in a clipped tone. I blushed. "Hello, Oliver, you're looking dashing tonight."

"Thanks, Mrs. Scott."

It was so totally unfair that, no matter what, my parents thought Oliver was the most perfect boy ever.

HELLO MOM AND DAD.

"Take a seat, kids." Mr Wood offered, and we did, knowing we could not deny this suggestion anyway.

"So. What's this all about?" I asked, directing my question to my parents. Mrs. Wood decided to answer.

"Well, honey, we've been thinking about this whole marriage deal," I noticed she avoided the words "fiasco" or "disaster", something I would have shamelessly chosen, had I been her, "and we decided that we may have been a little too controlling of this situation."

"Not really." I said politely, knowing that it would be offensive if I agreed or kept quiet, which is really the same thing.

Oliver said "tch".

"So," My dad continued, "We've talked about it, and we've decided to let you two choose if you still... Want to go through with it."

We both processed for quite some time. Their expressions grew steadily more anxious.

"No way." I blurted out, trying and failing to supress my ecstasy.

Oliver made a face at me, which, unfortunately, my parents missed.

"But, honey, don't be too rash, please," my mom advised me, and Mr. Wood nodded sagely, to back her up. "We want you to think about it and sleep on it, okay? You have plenty of time to consider what you want."

"Actually, you have until tomorrow." My dad informed us. My mom's face fell, obviously because her moment of caring and therefore stretching the truth about the deadline thing didn't really work out. "But take your time." He assured us, though it didn't really help.

"Please, don't just jump on an answer. Think about it." Although they were giving us a decision, it was quite evident that my parents and Oliver's really wanted this to happen.

"Yeah. Uhm... Of course." I replied awkwardly, but my mind was racing. Oliver's face was totally blank.

"Well, we're keeping you. Better get off to bed. See you tomorrow." My mom and dad stood up, beaming, and I went to them, planting a kiss on both their cheeks. As soon as they left, Mr. and Mrs. Wood ushered us up to bed, saying we had many things to consider and it would be best if we cleared our minds already.

I entered Oliver's room last, and shut the door behind me. He leaned on the wall across the door, completely at ease, at least, for the timebeing.

"So."

x.fin.x

A.N.: EW I KNOW. IT TOTALLY SUCKED.

But I hope you guys got the idea and whatever. Hopefully.

Anyway, I'll try to make the next one better. 3

Cheerio.


	17. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

"So what?"

It was the best thing I could have come up with, given the situation and my lightheadedness due to THE situation.

The situation, of course, being the fact that my parents had, for once in this whole entire betrothal ordeal, given me a choice - an ACTUAL choice.

Not a choice, like, "Do you want your bridesmaids to wear pink, peach, or baby blue?" or, "Do you want your wedding on a beach or in a church?", or something to that effect.

It was THE choice. THE option that would and definitely COULD change my life, at least, my life in terms of liberty of who I date, and when exactly I get married to him, by my own choice, not because my parents were all buddy buddy with the other person's parents, or whatever.

You know. THAT choice.

And it was so great, because I already knew what I was going to answer. 100% sure what I was going to say.

Wasn't it so obvious? I mean, Oliver and I do nothing but fight, which, even if it is a great and tremendously time-occupying hobby and routine, becomes quite tiring, and makes me feel really old, like we already got married already.

So now I have this question, like, should I, or should I not do it, and the evident answer was HELL YES.

I mean, okay, I know I'm mostly doing it for myself, me and my selfish self, but seriously, it would be beneficial to everyone, too.

Oliver can have his room back, and never be bothered by me again, and just pretend I don't exist, like he always used to.

Mr. and Mrs. Wood can have their HOUSE back, seeing as I invaded so rudely into it.

My parents can stop getting grief from me and my grief-burdening letters, calls and looks.

Even my sister can stop being bored at home and go back to making fun of me and my lack of beauty, style and social skill.

SEE?

Doesn't that sound great? The old, cool, normal life.

So, I don't know about you, but I seem to see no reason why Oliver should have "So"'d me, because, I mean, only a stupid person would ask a question like THAT when the answer is right there, and has been there, all these months, waiting for the chance to spring up.

So spring up, answer, because, obviously, you haven't hit Oliver yet. But now would be a great time.

"What do you mean, "so what"? We just got asked the most important question of our lives, as of this moment, and you're just standing there with this stupid look on your face, and you ask me SO WHAT?"

"You may or may not have noticed, but the look you so classified as stupid happens to be complete and utter happiness." I snapped. Way to ruin a great mood, dude.

Oh, yeah, like, ALWAYS.

"Why should you be so joyful when we were given practically the hardest decision of our lives?" He demanded, sort of implying this whole, _how could you be happy, I want to be happy too, give me some of that happiness!_ statement.

Well, it seemed that way, okay.

"Is it, really?" I said, truly perplexed. It certainly did not seem like a difficult choice.

Were he and I talking about the same thing?

"I mean, hello. We just got asked if we wanted to push through with the wedding. Were you even listening?"

Oh, okay, so he and I were sort of on the same page. But of course, I could forgive his snail-like processing mind, for obviously not seeing the answer as quickly as I had.

It's a lot harder to enlighten boys on things like these.

"Yes, I was listening." I huffed, a little annoyed that he thought I was most probably daydreaming about Taylor or whatever.

Which, okay, I was SO NOT.

"So why do you act like nothing happened?" He crossed his arms.

"Well, isn't it obvious? I already know what to say!" I rolled my eyes, like, hello. This is something you and I have been praying so hard for.

And now your prayers are answered, and you don't know what to do with it? What kind of a person prays for something you don't know what to do with? Come ON.

"You DO?" His eyes widened, as if he couldn't believe I had thought of something that fast. I was sort of offended by this, but, oh, well.

"DUH, Oliver! This is the one thing we've been hoping for! Weren't we both just saying that we wished this whole marriage whatever never happened?"

"I don't exactly mean half of the stuff I say, usually." He admitted.

I decided to not let this bug me at the moment. "Well, I do. And I mean what I said a while ago. I don't want my life controlled this way. I mean," I sort of got guilty, because there was this LOOK on Oliver's face and it just bothered me, "I like you as a person, Oliver. You're really, uhm, cool. But-"

"You don't like me as a..."

"Yeah. Well. I mean, like I said. You're cool. And I'm... so... not. You know?"

"You're cool." He said it like it was something that was meant to convice little kids that the tooth fairy is real, or something.

And she is. So kids should believe.

But, I mean, seriously. Me, cool?

Okay, so now is a great time to tell you that story I saved for later, if you remember? Yeah.

Once, I went to this zoo farm thing that had all sorts of cool animals. There was this one section with flying pigs and horses. Obviously, you know about the horses thing, because it's mentioned in all those myths and legends and stuff old people talk about, like Hercules and whatever.

But there are flying pigs too. They just don't mention it because it sounds really stupid. Like, "Oh, Hercules rode a flying pig." How lame is that?

But I'm telling you, there are flying pigs. I'm serious. I even took a photo with one. I'll show you sometime, if you happen to come across my house.

Which is why, you should never, ever say something to your friends, like, "Ashlee Simpson's single? And pigs can fly."

Don't. Because they can.

Instead, you should say, "Ashlee Simpson's single? And Alexandra Scott is cool."

Now that works.

And, not that it's any of my business, but I heard she got married to Pete Wentz. Ashlee Simpson, I mean, not Alexandra Scott.

Why? Because Alexandra Scott was busy trying to get out of her own marriage with Oliver Wood.

And now she's a STEP away. A YES away from cutting the whole thing off and getting her old, single, mundane life back.

"Cool? Oliver, I'm sorry, but could you please say that over, record it, and just listen to how stupid that sounds? It's like you're trying to tell me I'm a BOY."

"But you're pretty cool!" He insisted.

"Hey, man. Lying isn't gonna get you anywhere. Don't try to tell me what I am, because I'm me. In short, I'm confused and want to go to bed with the happiness of the thought that is my freedom of this thing. Okay?"

"Okay. But is it okay if I do something before we both go into the land of ecstacy?"

"Do I have to be here?"

"Sort of. But only a short while."

"Oh, okay." I shrugged.

"Okay, stand there." He pointed to an empty spot in the middle of the room. Questioningly, I obeyed.

"Okay, now, just turn around. And don't look around."

So I did. I was kind of afraid he'd kick my butt or stick something through me.

I heard his footsteps approach.

_This is it,_ I was thinking, _Oh God, I hope it doesn't hurt badly or something, just super quick and easy. When was the last time I told my parents I loved them?_

"Okay, turn around."

I turned. He was looking down at me, with this funny sort of observing expression. Like he didn't know which part of me to eat first.

"I don't get this game." I said nervously.

"It's not a game. It's an experiment." He informed me calmly.

I hated experiments. Things usually went horribly wrong with them.

"Okay, will it take long?"

"Nope. Just a short one."

"What's it about?" I asked, curiousity getting the better of me.

"Nothing of consequence." He muttered absently. "Just trying something."

And then it just sort of happened.

I don't even know what I was doing. I was probably taking a blink or a breath or a swallow or something, like, you know, normal stuff.

But I guess it was like a trigger or whatever, my blinking or swallowing or breathing, because he just attacked me.

Okay, not him attacking me. That's too much of an exaggeration.

wa

Maybe it was kind of like, oh, his lips sort of might or might not have accidentally jumped mine.

Something like that, you know?

It wasn't like, this passionate, super fireworks kind of kissy thing, you know?

It was kind of like...

Remember that weirdo impulse kiss that he have me after Hogsmeade?

It was kind of like that.

Except, you know. On the lips?

There.

And it wasn't that long. The longest it could have taken was around, I don't know, 5 seconds?

So don't get all, _"Ooooh, Alex got her first kiss!" _so on and so forth.

Because, even if it wasn't, though, okay, it was, it wasn't that special.

It's not that I was angry, or whatever. It was just, like...

Well, he kind of stole my first kiss, okay? I wanted it to be this whole, you know, passionate, super fireworks kind of kissy thing (a girl can dream, I'm pretty sure you're kind of wishing you got kissed by Oliver Wood, too).

But, it wasn't.

It was just this kind of like, what the heck is he doing, awkward thing that happened between my lips and his.

And it was, okay, kind of minty too, but whatever. I mean, I like mint stuff, but spearmint would be actually the best thing to have – okay, I'll just shut up about the mint thing now.

And it just stopped. Right there.

Not that, you know, I WANTED it to go on, or whatever. I'm just saying it stopped. No warning, no notice - one second, there was some pressure, and next, my lips were getting windburn from the open window I was facing.

And all I could do, after all that confusion, was stare.

Just. Stare.

You tell me, what else could I have done? Smacked him? Pushed him out the window? Stormed out and left for home with only the clothes on my back?

Or worse, KISSED HIM BACK?

I shudder.

x

**TEN THINGS I DID AFTER OLIVER WOOD KISSED ME:**

1. Somehow tripped out of the room in a daze, leaving Oliver looking partly confused and partly self-satisfied (not that, looking back at it, it would have mattered, because he was probably just self-satisfied that he had disgusted me greatly).

2. Debated about whether or not the answer was right, to leave this whole marriage thing behind.

3. Debated whether Oliver Wood was the kind of guy I'd like to spend my whole life with.

4. Debated whether Oliver Wood was a great kisser or not.

5. Totally forced myself to be disgusted and forget about it.

6. Changed and lay down in bed.

7. Debated some more/disgusted myself some more.

8. Debated about liking Taylor over Oliver (?).

9. Tossed and turned.

10. Called my parents to tell them to come pick me up before I lost my mind completely.

A/N: Okay, guys. I MISSED YOU LIKE WOAH.

I know this chapter was supposed to be a whole lot longer.

but I know that I took over 6 months before I actually updated. There is, actually, a little something after that list, but I decided to postpone posting that part, as it's unfinished, and so I want to just update and get you guys on the rolling ball again.

I know this was LOADS shorter than ever,

and I really apologize. I really will make up for it.

Thank you so much for being so patient,

and I love you, and will update really soon, and this is a promise i will give my 100% effort to keep.

P.S. totally unrelated. But happy birthday, Patrick Stump. God, I love you like anything. Thank you for pushing me to update to day. I love you more than you'll ever know.


	18. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: Almost a year. Almost a freaking year. I am not cool, dude. But here's the next update. And yes - my new year's resolution WAS to update a hella lot more this year. Which, yes, I did start in February, but then again, better late than never! **

**Anyway, I would really like to apologize (again, for what seems like the hundredth time, because I'm such a douche) for the gap between the updates, not only this one, but all the others. I do promise I will try my very best to update more often, promise promise.**

**This update is dedicated to Kallie - I will fulfill my despedida gift to you. This I swear. **

**Enjoy, and please, by all means, review! (: I'd love to hear from you guys again.**

**----**

I don't regret leaving the Woods. I don't regret calling off this (stupid, by the most accurate definition) engagement. And I most definitely don't regret (if I ever did, which is unlikely) hurting Oliver's feelings.

So I'm heartless - everyone is, sometimes.

I tried to be all cool, and totally apathetic about walking out of the mansion, where my parents were having a hushed conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Wood - no doubt they were apologizing for my "rude behavior" and this "unfortunate breaking of the engagement" for me, because I didn't have the guts to do it myself. Which, in all honesty, I suspect is just some sort of plan to make me feel worse about it, having to disappoint the parents of my former fiance.

Which, I'd like to say, is so not working.

I put all my luggage in the trunk, trying to squeeze it down between the folded strollers, which didn't turn out so well. I ended up having a wrestling match with an inanimate object, that, in the end, won.

But, then again, you have to consider - that was one big piece of luggage.

I was struggling to fit in the second bag, basically pressing all my body weight on it, when a voice behind me asked, "D'you need help with that?"

"Yes, thank you," I murmured. Taylor Solette, perfect as he was, easily moved aside the obstruction, and arranged my luggage in an orderly and logical manner that, in my frustration, I would never have thought of. I stayed silent as he straightened up, wondering what I could possibly say.

"So," He started, looking at me straight in the eye. "I suppose this is... Goodbye."

I swallowed, a hard lump in my throat. "Yes. I suppose so. Goodbye, then."

"I _will_ miss you."

The words shocked me - although it was, admittedly, pleasant, I couldn't help but feel this small pang of guilt. I would more probably never see this boy again; this boy, Taylor, who I thought I had a connection with, and who had claimed he had feelings for me. Genuinely.

But then, of course, **that** was ruined nicely, by both me and Oliver.

"I'll miss you too. Thank you, for keeping me company." I managed a smile, and so did he.

"Thank you, also. This has been one of the best Christmas vacations of my life. No lie."

I nodded, meaning I meant the same. "Promise I'll write often."

"As will I." He vowed. Taylor leaned in, and for a terrifying moment, I thought he was going to kiss me - and I couldn't handle that at all right now, as much as I had been secretly hoping it would happen some time before. I began to inch away, and a strange look crossed his face. "No goodbye hug?"

Oh, a hug - that was allowed, I suppose.

"Oh, right, of course." We embraced in an awkward, loose fashion, and my cheek was pressed lightly against his shoulder. Unconsciously, I inhaled his scent, and felt like a complete creep then and there.

The door slammed shut, and we sprang apart, now avoiding each other's gaze. "I should go." He muttered, breaking the silence.

"Yeah. Thanks, again." I nodded, trying to play it cool.

A smile graced his lips, and turned away, walking the direction back to his home, until he disappeared. I considered calling out an apology, but found that it wasn't in my ability to do so.

Instead, I turned my attention to Bela, who ran towards me, a troubled look on her sweet, beautiful face.

"Is it true, then?" She wondered, her lips forming into a small pout.

"Afraid so, Bels." I sighed - if there was one thing I would truly miss about this place, it would be the time I spent with Bela. "But we'll still see each other at school, of course. So we can always hang out there, right? Everyday, if you want to."

"But, does it mean..." Her lower lip quivered as the words fell out of her mouth, a hushed whisper of disappointment, "You're not going to be my sister anymore?"

Why was this little girl pulling away at my heartstrings? "Yes. I'm sorry."

"I wanted you to be my sister." She heaved a great breath, like she was fighting down a sob.

"I wanted you to be my sister too, Bels. But..." _But your brother's an idiot jerk and needs to grow up, and so I can't marry him and be your sister._

"I'm going to miss you, Alex." She said finally, her voice quiet.

"We'll still see each other at school."

"But it's just not the same."

I had nothing to say to this. I was never good with comforting kids - when my siblings cried, we just gave them whatever they wanted. But how could I give her what she wanted, after all? So I turned away, a frown tugging down my lips.

"Time to go, Alex." I heard my father's voice, and he and my mother came out of the mansion, looking grave. Mr. and Mrs. Wood followed close behind, and Oliver lingered last, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Okay," I answered, my voice sounding too far away to possibly be my own.

"Say goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Wood. And don't forget to thank them for their hospitality, mind you." My mother dug her nails into my shoulder as she whispered with some sort of urgency into my ear. I nodded glumly and walked up to the Woods, who looked at me with a sort of sympathy I did not deserve.

"Goodbye, Mr. and Mrs. Wood. Thank... Thank you for having me."

"Oh, Alex, dear, I wish it didn't have to be this way. It was so wonderful to have you here." Mrs. Wood pulled me into a tight hug. Again, with the heartstrings.

I shook hands with Mr. Wood (I didn't know if that was the proper thing to do, but nobody commented, so I assumed it was alright) and stepped back, to look upon the face I saved for last.

"Goodbye, then." I said to Oliver, without completely meeting his eye. My sight flitted around, and I refused to look at him for more than a fraction of a second - his look was so piercing I thought maybe I'd check if I had a hole in my head when I got to the car.

Oliver was silent for a while, but no other expression came to his features. Finally, in a slow voice, he muttered a, "Goodbye".

"I..." What was I going to say? _I'm sorry_? God, I'm an idiot. I shut my mouth and bolted to the car, my heart scratching at my throat. I closed the car door and looked out the tinted window, at the slightly blue faces of my parents and his, of Bela's and Oliver's. Muffled words could be heard, my parents once again apologizing for the mess, thanking them for their kindness; The Woods, assuring them that it was fine, that everything would be alright. Oliver remained silent throughout this time, and had not said a word, even as my parents entered the car and began buckling their seatbelts.

The Woods huddled together, so much like a family portrait, and began to wave sadly. Mr. Wood had pulled his wife close, and Mrs. Wood's hand rested lightly on Bela's shoulder. Only Oliver seemed out of place, standing by the vehicle, staring down into the blue-black glass - it was as if he was peering in, trying to catch a glimpse of what was inside, though, of course, he couldn't.

Suddenly, he straightened up, and did a curious thing. Pressing his lips together, he raise a hand gently to them, where they met for a moment. His hand traveled to the window, and there it lingered, a flat, flesh imprint on the pane - and then, it was gone, he had stepped back to his family and watched, like they all did, the car leave their long driveway.

"Are you alright, Alex?" my mother inquired, shattering the tension. I sighed heavily, and nodded.

"Do you want to tell us what's on your mind?" She urged. I shook my head, and I imagined the deep frown that must have appeared on her face. "Well, alright. Just have a rest on the ride home, alright?"

I didn't answer - I was too preoccupied with the ghostly remain of the hand print on my window, which had only begun to fade away.

---

"ALEX IS HOME, ALEX IS HOME!!!" I heard the overlapping screams of my tiny siblings before I even entered the house. The ran out to me, and clung onto my legs, sniffling and giggling at the same time. "Alex, we misschoo." Danny rubbed his nose against my pant leg to rid his face of the snot - deep inside, I winced, but let it go, as they were only children.

"Come play with us, come play with us!" Denise urged, tugging at my other pant leg demandingly.

"Wait, guys, I have to do stuff first..." I answered feebly, but to no avail.

"Noooo, NOW!" they both clenched little fistfuls of the denim and pulled. My head rolled around in its place dizzyingly.

"In a while. Two seconds." I promised. They let go, straining their necks to look up at me.

"We're counting!" They chimed together, and ran up the stairs. I breathed out a sigh of relief.

As my parents were coming through the door, Macy entered the room from the kitchen. I wondered to myself if she'd really looked that loathesome the last time I'd seen her.

"Oh, it's you." She said with some content, taking a bite into her sandwich.

"Yeah." I muttered, not exactly knowing how to retort to that. She rolled her eyes.

"So what're you doing back here? I thought you were at your darling fiance's house." She quirked an eyebrow. Immediately, I found it hard to meet her gaze, or answer her question. In turn, she caught on immediately.

"Oh my God!" She squealed in utter delight. "Wait till I tell everyone about this -"

"Macy!" I yelled in frustration. "Could you please, for once in your God-forsaken life, _shut up_?"

Her eyes widened, and her glossy lips mashed together in astonishment. Without waiting for her to regain composure, I stormed up the stairs, and shut my door with excess force. Crossing to my desk, I plopped down and pulled out a piece of parchment, a quill and a half-empty ink bottle, and began to write words I would never mail.

---

_Dear Chase,_

_ I got home today from the Woods', and I had to write to you immediately. We called off the engagement, me and Oliver. I know I'm supposed to be all happy about it, but I can't help but think I might have made some horrible mistake. I mean, he told me he likes me, which is weird coz I used to think he hated every fibre of my being. Is it possible that I could like hi-_

_----_

_Dear Taylor,_

_ I know we promised to write often, I hope this isn't too soon. Getting home, I already miss hanging out with you. Getting straight to the point, I never had the guts to tell you this, but I honestly like you. I know you told me you did too, and so I can't help but feel like it was unfair that I didn't tell you any sooner. But the problem with this whole thing is that I think I might have some feelings for Ol-_

_----_

_Dear Oliver,_

_ ... Never mind._

_----_

Top Five Things I Do Regret:

5. Agreeing to do my parents' will, which had gotten me into this rut in the first place.

4. Allowing Oliver to kiss me, which, by the way, I should have seen coming.

3. Leaving the Woods.

2. Calling off this (stupid) engagement.

1. Hurting Oliver's feelings. Badly.

**.x**


End file.
